


Back To Where We Began

by Daenerys Lives On (Here4MyBoys)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death Fix, Daenerys Resurrection, Eventual Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Gen, NOT Sansa-positive, Post Season 8, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-03-13 22:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18949603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Here4MyBoys/pseuds/Daenerys%20Lives%20On
Summary: "And Drogon?""He was last seen flying east, towards Volantis"





	1. Choosing Ice and Fire

Dany dreamed of her children. She knew it was a dream, because Rhaegal and Viserion were the size of small dogs as they played among the furs with Rhaego. She laid on her back, feeling the warmth of summer through the horsehide tent and listening to the giggles and happy screeches that Dany knew in her heart were impossible. She did not want to wake up and she did not know why.

Viserion flapped his tiny wings and landed clumsily on her stomach. As she absentmindedly scratched behind his golden horns, she felt him growing bigger, and quickly. His hot weight started to become unpleasant on top of her heart, and other inconveniences began to make themselves known. There were voices from outside her little tent, loud and demanding. The setting sun was coming through the skins in such a bright, vivid orange Dany had to close her eyes. She pushed Viserion off her chest but Rhaegal’s hot tongue began licking her hand and arm where she lay.

The heat of her children, the annoying chants and the ever brightening sun behind her lids were becoming more insistant.  _ No!  _ Dany thought  _ I don’t want to wake up, _ but sweat was starting to pour from her brow, faster than she could wipe it away.

“ _ Lord, cast your light upon your fallen one” _

_ “Lord, return her from the darkness” _

_ I’m not in darkness.  _ Dany tried to tell the voice,  _ It’s too bright, actually. _

_ “Mother of fire”.... “Queen of fire”.... “Mother of fire”... “Queen of fire” _

These cries came in half a dozen different languages and dialects. Dany tried harder to ignore them when a roar so loud it shook her tent, made her eyes fly open.  _ Drogon!  _

As the queen’s eyes opened, the last of her dream faded.  _ Was this death? _

Dany lay on a pyre, her clothes all burned away. Bright orange flames licked at her arms and legs, hot as a dragon’s tongue. Her bed was the trunk of a massive tree, cut flat, and all around her was heat and smoke and sweat.

Through the waves of heat, Dany could make out the chanting figure of a beautiful woman, clothed in a red gown with raven hair and green eyes so bright they could be glowing. Her chants turned to a serene smile as she saw Daenerys sitting up.

Looking around her, further into the darkness from her pyre, Dany could see the shapes of many more people. In Ghiscari dress, Dothraki leathers and red robes, people chanting “Mhysa” and “Khaleesi” grew in their excitement until the noise was unbearable and Dany wanted to scream at them to shut up. The next thing to draw the queen’s attention was the large red door in the distance, familiar yet strange. This door was attached to a large, intricate-looking red building, built on many different levels and illuminated by hundreds of torches along every wall and courtyard.

But none of these strange sights were what she sought. Daenerys Targaryen did not wake from her beautiful dream for the red door or the screaming masses or the gorgeous woman. A soft whimper from behind her head caused Dany to turn to the sound of her son.  _ There he is,  _ she thought. Drogon blended with the night, even harder to see, surrounded, as she was, by the brightness of the flames.

Dany pushed herself up to kneel on the charred trunk and leaned towards her child… before losing her balance and falling from the fire, glowing embers flying into the air as she fell on her face into the hot dust.

  
  


***

  
  


Jon had begun to accept that he would never know peace. His every waking moment was a torment that not even the bitter winds could freeze away, and his dreams were full of the cries of an orphaned dragon and pleading blue eyes asking  _ “Why? Why?” _ . He wished he could give her an answer, maybe then the could  _ both  _ rest, but while he tried to lie to his dreams and himself, in truth he had nothing.

Anger had filled him that day. Anger at himself for pulling away from her when she needed him most. Anger at what had followed that mistake. Anger at his father for not telling him who he was. Anger at his sister for proving Daenerys right and him wrong. And yet he’d felt no anger towards  _ her, _ despite what she’d done. So why did she pay the price? For that, Jon had no answer.

His anger had faded with Drogon - and her body - into the gray sky, leaving him with nothing but emptiness and regret. He would take it back. He would do anything.

Being far away from the seven kingdoms helped, though every frozen lake they passed still stung him with the memory of her, coming from the darkness like a fiery light to burn away the encroaching death before it overwhelmed them. She had risked it all for him - a stranger - and lost so much. He had left her alone in the world… and now, he was too.

The freefolk pushed ever north, never staying anywhere for long. Being among these people Jon had always had a connection to should have helped, but he felt more unworthy than ever. At least as a bastard of the Night’s Watch he’d had some honor. There was no honor left to him now. Tormund and the other freefolk didn’t pry, for which he was grateful, but Ghost always gave him a look that said he knew Jon’s crimes. Kinslayer. Queenslayer. Oathbreaker. Murderer. For that’s what it had been; a murder. She was unarmed and vulnerable. There was no justice in that.

Jon’s increasing guilt made him terrible company and more of a drain on his people than a value, though they were ever patient with him.

Eventually, Jon found he could stand their kindness no longer and told his people he would go and range ahead for a while. Tormund called Jon an idiot in every colorful way he could imagine, even trying to convince him to take a couple of the others as scouts, reminding Jon he didn’t really know the  _ true  _ north.

But Jon’s mind was made up. Without a thought to where he was going or what he was looking for, Jon found himself crossing a vivid blue, glacial river, his horse carrying him far from the camp of people, who watched him nervously until he was out of their sight.

Jon Snow spent days wandering, seeking nothing, dwelling on his own loss and pain and self loathing... ‘Brooding’, Tormund would have called it. 

After nine days, Jon found himself staring at a series of stone tors that looked anything but natural. He could not decide if they were stone at all, but ice. They reminded him a little of The Wall. The curved, jagged-looking pillars struck the sky like icy blades between the peaks of a range of low mountains, curving towards the east. Was this some monument erected by the First Men? Or even the Children of the Forest? Jon doubted this as he felt a darkness radiating from the tors. A gateway. A warning. Every instinct would warn a person away from whatever old power had built this place. But the darkness inside called to whatever darkness Jon was dwelling in, and though Ghost would go no further, Jon once again found himself urging his horse into the unknown...  

  
  


***

  
  
  


Daenerys awoke in sweat and confusion. As she opened her eyes to the beautiful priestess at the foot of her bed, a dizziness threatened to pull her back into the blackness.

“Are you with us now?” The priestess asked in a musical voice. “You’ve been drifting in and out for almost a week.”

A week? Since the pyre? Daenerys laid still and gathered her thoughts for a moment. She remembered the dream, the flames, the people and this priestess. But how? She thought back further… to the throne room. Jon Snow. That bastard! The memory of a knife… the hilt being all she could see of it... Her vision fading…  _ Why?  _ Fear, anger and betrayal fought for her dominant emotion but all three were defeated by a crushing sadness.

The priestess spoke again “You are still in the grips of a fever, though I believe the worst has passed.” and then quieter “We could not save your son. The Lord must have other plans.”

“Drogon?!” She panicked, her voice only a rasping whisper. He had been there at the pyre, what had happened? Had the Westerosi snakes come for him? For vengeance? To take and mutilate her body?

“No, your winged child is hunting…” the priestess’s voice dropped even lower, “you were with child.”

_ Impossible.  _ Dany felt her anger stir again. She wanted to ask this woman why she would say something so cruel, why would she try to hurt her like that, but one hard look into the priestess’s knowing eyes stopped her growing rage in its tracks. Daenerys looked within and knew it to be true. Her cycles had been off for several months but she had simply put it down to the army of the dead, grief and not eating or drinking. She sighed and bowed her head as the loss of an impossible child she’d never known settled into her heart with all the rest. Lifting the covers, Dany saw she was still bleeding slightly and the sight brought tears to her eyes. Tears that turned to sobs and sobs that turned to wracking heaves until even the priestess, who had been trying to comfort her, said she would ‘give her some time to mourn’ and fled the room.

 

Dany had cried and screamed her pain into a pillow for time beyond measure, until her voice left her entirely and unconsciousness took her again.  

 

_ So, I am a monster,  _ Dany thought as she lay in a strange bed in this strange place. Daenerys Targaryen had never given much thought to the opinions of her enemies, but Jon had been the person she loved most in the world… and if  _ he  _ had thought her a monster - so much that she deserved death - then she must at least consider it.

_ I killed so many people. Why? _ She had sailed for home, so full of hope. She truly believed she could do it. She had allies, armies, ships, her people loved her and no monarch ever had a better council. So close to taking back the life that should always have been hers. And she had lost it all. Her allies, Viserion, Ser Jorah, Rhaegal and Missandei… and more. Her bloodriders. Brave men who had followed her across the world. And she was angry. At Tyrion and Sansa and all those who plotted her downfall after the Battle of Winterfell. At Cersei. At Jon. Even at the Night King… and at herself.  _ Too many.  _ Too many enemies - on all sides - and too many innocent lives. She was meant to protect her people, that’s why she had been given her dragons. But it felt so long since she had protected anyone.

But now her anger had left her, all she had was emptiness and regret. She could still have won her people’s love. One day, they might still have sewn dragon banners and smiled as she rode by… but not now. Driven to madness by her grief, she had lost any chance at being loved, she was not worthy of it… she was a queen no longer.

 

After several days of coming to terms with her murder and resurrection - that is, if such a thing can ever be fully accepted - Dany rose from her bed and stood in front of a large looking glass next to the balcony of her suite. She looked terrible. Her eyes were sunken, her hair was like straw and she had lost so much weight she looked like one of the rotting corpses she had fought. And the scar. An angry red line, perfectly nestled between her breasts, looked so much like  _ his  _ scars, it would be an eternal reminder of what he did to her… and their child. Not that Jon would have wanted it. A baby born of inbreeding, an abomination.

But Daenerys was sick of the sight of her rooms in the temple, so she tied her silver waves into a simple side braid, slipped a red robe over her undyed silk slip, careful to make sure her scar was covered, and slipped into the wide, empty hall.

Weakness almost overcame her, and Dany found herself holding onto the walls for support as she descended the stairs. Whatever magic had brought her back, it had not returned her full strength.

The hall opened into a large, but homely-looking, parlor. Dany knew these were High Priestess Kinvara’s private rooms in the temple, so did not expect to see anyone but servants. However, she was surprised to see a very large, familiar man standing in front of an ornate chest.

Upon hearing her bare feet upon the stone floor, he spoke. “You rather ruined my wedding gift, Princess Daenerys.”

Dany was shocked by the sight of this man, even more than the title called her by. Princess?! She had not been a princess in many years. But, of course, Princess of Dragonstone had been her title when she lived with him.

“Illyrio.” Dany rasped, as she made her way to him shakily, leaning on any furniture within reached as she passed.

As she got closer, she saw the contents of the chest he was inspecting. The three broken lumps of rocks, cracked open to reveal their smooth, hollow centers, the beautiful patterned surfaces charred and soot-stained nearly knocked Dany off her feet. Her eggs. She hadn’t dug the pieces out of Drogo’s pyre - they’d had enough to carry across the Red Waste without bringing broken rocks - so how could they possibly be here?

Daenerys looked up at Illyrio’s face. He smiled down at her, despite his scolding words, and his indulgent look made her feel half a child again.

“It seems there’s a cliff top in the Great Grass Sea that has become something of a place of pilgrimage to the followers of R’hllor.” he explained “These pieces were brought here several years ago. I like to look at them when I visit Volantis,” He went on, “they remind me of a most impressive young woman, who built an empire out of three small rocks.” Now his smile looked so proud, Dany couldn’t help but smile back. 

Her smile faded though, as something unpleasant occurred to her. “Varys. You sent him to me. He tried to poison me and replace me before I’d even won my throne.”

In response, Illyrio’s eyes flashed, before he quickly smoothed his expression. “That was not the plan. He only saw a queen he could not control. He never knew you. He never saw where you began or marveled at the stories of your achievements, as I did. I never knew that frightened child who sheltered in my house was capable of such greatness. You were reborn into the Dragon Queen.” 

_ Dragon Queen,  _ Dany thought.  _ Was there ever a name so cruel? Queens are creatures of duty, they belong to their people, but dragons are creatures of the sky and crave only freedom. How could she ever have hoped to be both? _

“I tried to be a queen. I lost… everything”

“You have more than you know. You sparked a fire that grew into an inferno of change and it sweeps across Essos now.”

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


“What the fuck is going on here?!” Yara asked, furious.

“These men are guilty of conspiring to commit piracy and theft from the Lord of Highgarden.”

“Guilty of  _ conspiring?” _ Yara repeated, shocked and confused.

The gold cloaks that used to make up the city watch of King's Landing were now paid by the small council and their reach far exceeded the capital city, but this was the first time they’d dared to set foot on Pyke. Now, Yara had no doubt these Ironborn men probably  _ were _ going to rob that bloated sellsword in his stolen castle - her people had struggled to adapt to her ‘no more reaving and raiding’ laws - but they were still  _ her  _ people and she was not about to let a group of mercenaries take them to that shit city to be punished for a crime they hadn’t committed.

“I am Lady Greyjoy, I will see to it that any plots are not carried out.” Yara insisted.

“Apologies, M’lady,” the gold cloak didn’t sound apologetic at all “but our orders come directly from King Brandon and his council.” The men all placed their hands on their raven-topped swords, reminding Yara that there were no fighters on the docks with her.

Yara watched, helpless, as a dozen men she’d known since she was a little girl, were led onto one of the large prisoner gallions, knowing she’d likely never see them again. People who boarded one of the ships bearing the Three Eyed Raven sigil rarely returned.

_ Now men can no longer even  _ think  _ of stepping out of line,  _ Yara fumed _ , how free we are that we can’t even think? And they called Daenerys a tyrant. _

_ Daenerys.  _ Yara had heard the rumors, they all had. If she truly still lived, the all-seeing council must know about it. They would send someone for her head. It wouldn’t be easy. Essos was now in a silent war with Westeros. Anyone who did not want to become an enemy of the Lord of Light or the Iron Bank of Braavos would not trade with ships from the west. The seven kingdoms were in massive debt, with nothing to sell after years of war and winter and were responsible for the murder of the ‘Breaker of Chains’, her killer let off with exile rather than execution. That would surely make it harder to hire an assassin that side of the Narrow Sea, but there were also rumors that the all-seeing king could take people’s bodies and make them his puppets. The thought filled Yara with fear and fury.  _ Everyone should have a choice and the chance to face the consequences of those choices.  _ That’s what Daenerys had given people, given Yara too, that day in Meereen. Choose to change or choose to die. It had been an easy choice for a woman of the Iron Islands who had fought with her conscience about the actions of her people for years.

Perhaps the cripple boy could see her decision, even as she made it, but Yara didn’t care. She would happily die fighting for free will. She would find Daenerys Targaryen, wherever she was in this world… unless a puppet of the king found her first...

  
  
  


***

  
  


Illyrio had spoken with more passion than dany had ever thought him capable of, although the image his words produced had made her grit her teeth. She wanted no more infernos. All she wanted now was to chase the horizon with her son. A cruel irony that while the red priests saw to her every need and her loving people in the city below called up ‘Mhysa’ and ‘Great Khalessi’ to her window, Dany could not do what she truly wanted. No matter how low Drogon lay, or how high a platform Dany attempted to stand on, she did not have the physical strength to climb on his back. She longed for the wind beneath her wings, to fly far from the loss and the memories and the chants of the people who still had faith in a murderer. So she resigned herself to Volantis, thinking only of the sky.

 

Gradually, Dany’s strength returned as Kinvara began to show her off to the the people praying at the temple. She found herself being dressed in red gowns, embroidered with dragon scale and walking among the worshippers. Dany didn’t mind, although she wanted to tell them their faith was misplaced and she was unworthy. Her presence seemed to give courage to those afraid to stand against the old systems of power as they collapsed. All across the east, Dany heard, those who had become powerful at the expense of the powerless, were having to repent or lose all they had. The growing numbers who worshipped the Lord of Light saw Kinvara declare Dany his chosen one and, honestly, who could blame them for believing? Dany stood in front of them, silent, as Kinvara told them of the one who was reborn in flames to remake the world and hatched dragons from stone beneath the bleeding star. Drogon, Dany’s broken eggs and her scar were proof enough that she was no ordinary woman and her deeds in the Bay of Dragons were far from forgotten.

 

“I don’t want to be queen. I just want a home.” Dany told Kinvara one day as they walked, arm in arm, in the lush gardens of the temple.

“Maybe we do not need a queen.” Kinvara smiled. “You started this, and now it has taken on a life of its own. Maybe what the people need now is a Mhysa. A guide. A protector. Your name alone carries weight, your story brings hope to millions.”

Daenerys was relieved. Part of her thought the priestess would be angry at the thought of losing her figurehead. “Is your god a jealous god?” Dany asked.

“No.” Kinvara giggled, sounding much younger than Dany knew her to be. “He does not punish those who don’t believe in  _ him _ , only those who don’t believe in what he stands for: light and life.”

Though Daenerys was grateful to the Lord of Light, and could not deny his power, she felt no reverence for him. Like her ancestors, Dany observed many gods but worshipped none. She didn’t think she had it in her to be a zealot or a true believer. She had seen too many awful things to put all her faith in a god, no matter what they stood for. 

“I wish to leave.” Dany did not want it to sound like she was asking for permission, but she also didn’t want to risk losing the friendship of this powerful, beautiful woman she had become so fond of.

“Daenerys, you have wanted to leave from the day you awoke. But I hope you will stay in contact with me… Where will you go?”

“Vaes Dothrak.” It was so obvious to Dany. She wanted the freedom of the Great Grass Sea, the wisdom of the Dosh Khaleen and the unashamed culture of the Dothraki.

“Wise choice.” Kinvara confirmed “The Dothraki need a protector too, they are vulnerable these days.”

What Kinvara was too kind to say was that the Dothraki were vulnerable because Dany had taken all the men of fighting age to Westeros and the vast majority had perished. Reports reached the temple that what was left of her Khalasar had sailed into Pentos, abandoned her ships and were making their way home across the sea. Dany would reunite with them.

 

Seeing Drogon loaded up with food and clothes was a sight most amusing to Dany, but the people of Volantis had wanted to see her off and she hadn’t the heart to spurn their gifts. A gown of scarlet silk covered her riding leathers and her silver curls were piled on top of her head as Dany waved goodbye to her people, who placed wreaths of flowers and bright feathers about her head and neck, kissed her hands and wished her good fortune. 

With the help of Kinvara, whom Drogon seemed to adore as much as she did, Dany was able to climb up her son’s wing and cling to his back. She had wanted to leave this place throughout her recovery, but now she realized she would miss its fires and its peacefulness… and its High Priestess. 

However, all thoughts of changing her mind left Dany as she soared northeast, over the Rhoyne and the mountains and got her first glimpse of the Great Grass Sea in years. It stretched on endlessly into the horizon, rolling hills of tall grass, waving in the wind. Occasionally they’d pass over a small lake and Drogon would drop low to dip his immense wings in the water.

_ This is freedom, _ Dany thought,  _ and it feels better than any crown. _

 


	2. Crossing the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany's new-found peace in Essos is about to be disturbed as the west comes to her this time.

“Riders approaching!” Came the call from the lookout.

Sansa climbed the castle stairs to watch a group of a few score people on horseback slowly advancing to the northern gate of Winterfell. From the direction they came, she could guess who they were: Freefolk. Sansa did not especially like these people, they had no respect for her as queen and their ways were so alien and savage. They might have come from the same ancestors as House Stark but they were nothing like her loyal Northern men. But, as they got closer, Sansa noticed the front two riders were a large red-head man and a much smaller black-haired man with a wolf between them. Jon and Tormund. She should have been happy to see her half-brother - or cousin - but she knew he and his company would bring nothing but trouble to her queendom.

“Let them in. Tell them I will hear them in the great hall.” Sansa decided if she kept the meeting more formal, Jon could not be so open about the grudge he still held.

 

“If you have come for provisions, there are none we can spare.” Sansa spoke as if to strangers “You should have thought about such things before going so far north while we are still in winter.”

Jon’s eyes were hard and cold as he stared, unblinking, at his sister, seated on her throne in the great hall. So,  _ he’s still angry then. He should have taken the throne when I had it offered to him on a plate.  _ Tormund was looking at Jon strangely, almost… afraid? Did he believe Jon meant her harm? Part of Sansa wanted to call her guards closer but she did not want to show how intimidated she felt by her own brother, so she simply hoped her men could sense Jon’s emotions as she could.

“We’ve come for nothing from you” Jon’s voice was barely recognizable. Empty and hard, like the crack of ice underfoot. Sansa would have preferred anger, at least then she could have responded with her own.

“We’re going south.” Tormund spoke up, still glancing at Jon nervously. “We wanted to let you know, so your men leave us be.”

“That was not the arrangement.” Sansa’s voice was harsh “You were exiled, you cannot just come and go as you please. And your people did not kneel to Bran or myself or swear fealty. You were supposed to stay north, away from our kingdoms.”

“We’re passing through. We’ll be south of Moat Cailin in a week. And we’ll need some coin too. Not much. ” Jon spoke again. Not a question. His tone did not leave room for argument.

_ How dare he?!  _ Sansa thought, fuming.  _ I am queen here, he is a bastard exile. He could’ve been king but he wasted it on a blond witch. He speaks as if I owe him but he is entitled to nothing. _

But Jon’s words left Sansa with only two choices. Let them pass or don’t. She thought for a moment: To deny them passage would make the wildling savages her enemy and admit to her banner men that she considered her own brother untrustworthy. To allow them to cross her lands without acknowledging her as queen would make her appear soft. She just wanted Jon gone, along with whatever trouble he was likely to bring. He’d brought nothing  _ but  _ trouble to House Stark from the day her father had brought him home. If she sent them back to the wall or denied them passage, they were likely to try and sneak through anyway and she would be a laughing stock to her banner men. Whatever her choice, she would have to get the message to Bran. He would know probably know what Jon wanted and could send all of his own paid men to arrest Jon and his savages if need be.

Before making her decision, something occurred to Sansa to ask: “Why? Wildlings are from the north, why do you want to go south?”

Jon’s cold gaze didn’t change, and his voice gave nothing away “We need to talk to the raven about some things we saw. We need to get south.”

The raven? Had Jon really just called Bran that? And what things?

“You may cross my lands with an escort of Stark men,” Sansa gestured around her “And I will, of course, let the King in the South know you are approaching his lands. His decision may be different than mine.”

Jon simply nodded and walked back the way he came. Sansa was shocked at his outright rudeness and a terrible feeling came over her that this was more than just anger at her telling Tyrion his true identity. She stopped Tormund before he could follow Jon from the hall “What did you see up there?”

Tormund turned back, his own expression was not particularly friendly towards her, but it seemed a more human disapproval than Jon’s coldness “Not a lot. Jon went away on his own to brood. Was gone almost two moons. Then a storm blew in. Couldn’t see much of anything, but it was cold… even for a northern winter. And when the white winds had blown away, almost half the camp had frozen to death. To be clear, the Freefolk don’t freeze easily. Jon came back that morning. But he wasn’t the same. Maybe he saw something, or maybe losing even more people finally wore him down, but it’s like he was all emptied out. He started saying he needed to get south. It’s pretty much all he’s said for weeks. My people trust Jon Snow, so they followed him. Some wanted to stay at Castle Black, no interest in coming south again. But the rest…” he gestured around him “here we are.”

Sansa did not know what the make of this story. It raised more questions than answers, and she doubted Jon would speak with her… nor did she want him to, the way he was now.

  
  
  


***

  
  


For some reason, the name ‘Dothraki  _ Sea’  _ had given Yara comfort. The sea was her home and her source of strength, but as she climbed a ridge east of the Rhoyne and had her first look at the endless grasslands, she realized how very far she was from the Drowned God. There was nothing to protect a small company of Ironborn here.

But Yara had come too far already and risked too much. She could not return to Westeros after going in search of the queen who had, for all intents and purposes, been deposed. Several large birds had flown overhead on her journey, the closest were two ravens that flew directly over her ship, one as she passed the Shield Islands and another as they sailed east from the Dornish coastline. Any and all ravens were suspicious now, but Yara had seen none since landing in a small Essosi port, east of the Stepstones.  _ They must know I’m here… Can they do anything?  _ Whether the King’s council could reach this far was the most pressing question. If they can get to me, they can get to her. Surely they’d be more concerned with Daenerys than a dozen wayward Ironborn.

All news of the resurrected queen pointed their way to the other side of the Dothraki Sea, to their city.  _ Easily a thousand leagues,  _ Yara thought,  _ and none of it can be done by ship _ . Still, she urged her horse over the ridge and into the grasslands, keeping an eye on the hot sun, so as not to fall off course in the tall grass.

 

After seven weeks of hard riding, came the first time Yara thought she saw it. A dragon. So far in the distance it could have passed for a small black bird, but Yara Greyjoy had grown up at sea and was used to spotting things in the far distance. And that was no bird. They saw it again the next day, closer than before. This encouraged her men, who were brave at sea, but had begun to feel they were drowning in this godforsaken grass, to ride even harder. After a couple more days they were sure the dragon had seen them, but it simply turned in the other direction.  _ Better than other things it could’ve done, I suppose. _

On the sixth day after they’d first seen him, the afternoon sun glinted off growing shapes in the distance. They approached the city at a near gallop, and were about to pass beneath two statues of rearing stallions when a large group of the Dragon Queen’s men blocked their way on horseback. Yara was just wondering how best to explain to these men, who did not speak the common tongue, that they were looking for the queen, when one of them came forward, pointed at their weapons and said “No!”.

Yara understood that well enough and in a vague memory of childhood history lessons, recalled that this city was sacred to the Dothraki and many rival hordes had homes here. She quickly instructed her men to throw their weapons on the ground, before lifting her arms in what she hoped was a gesture of peace. The man at the front of the Dothraki simply said a few words Yara did not understand and led her company under the rearing stallions, into the city of the horselords.

Vaes Dothrak was the largest city Yara had ever seen. It dwarfed King’s Landing. It sprawled in every direction, every building unique but all of them of very simple construction. It was a surprisingly green place, with trees and flowers at the sides of the dirt roads that wove around the huts, houses and tents. Yara saw few people for the size of the place and lights burned in only one building in ten. Most of those Yara  _ did _ see were women, young children and teenage boys trying to look fierce on horses that were too large for them. All of the warriors had crossed the sea and few had returned, she realized. Some of the people looked very different from most. Their skin was a different color and they did not dress in horsehide.  _ These must be Meereenese people, who have crossed the grass to be with their queen,  _ Yara decided,  _ they are dressed like those I saw in the city when I met Daenerys. _

Upon entering a dusty clearing where no buildings stood close, Yara was greeted by a group of women, all of different ages, though most were older. A woman who looked to have passed her fiftieth nameday stepped forward with unruly black hair, smooth copper skin and the look of a firm but kind grandmother.

“Welcome.” she spoke the common tongue but with a heavy accent “Your people eat. Rest.” She gestured at a long wooden table beneath the stars, filled with spicy-smelling soups, bread and fruit.

From what Yara knew of the Dothraki, she could not understand why they would be so welcoming to strangers from across the sea, but she could feel the hunger and weariness of her men, so gestured for them to sit. She did not think it was in the Dothraki way to poison guests in their sacred city… she just hoped  _ her _ people would behave and not offend anyone.

Yara did not sit with her men, but was gestured to follow by one of the younger women, a beautiful girl with pale eyes and light golden skin. Yara was more than happy to walk behind this one and admire the view.

Soon the two women were out of sight of the feast and the homes were becoming more sparse and more like tents until they stopped altogether as the large figure of Drogon came into view, in the shadow of steep hill. He looked to be sleeping next to a large pavillion, filled with children laughing and playing. The beautiful woman nodded at Yara and walked back the way she came.

So, Daenerys was expecting her then. Yara realized the queen must have been riding the dragon on one of the days they had been seen. That explained the meal and the welcome. Yara was making her way to the large, shaded shelter and through the giggling, dark-skinned children, when she caught sight of the silver hair of her queen.

Daenerys looked to be dozing. She was even more stunning than Yara remembered. Her pale skin was now a sun-kissed bronze, her silver curls were not in braids but rather piled on top of her head, loose tendrils escaping down her cheeks. She was laid on rough woven mats with her head resting on the claw of Drogon's wing, as the dragon also slept. She was wearing plain Dothraki garb, barefoot, with a soft leather skirt and a small woven vest, exposing her tanned stomach and the nasty-looking scar between her small breasts. But pinned around her shoulders were two ornate dragons, made of dragonglass beads, which formed the fastenings of a soft cloak she wore in the brightest scarlet fabric and embroidered to look like dragonscale.  _ Not completely thrown off the image of a queen then,  _ Yara mused, looking from her drab horse skins to the stunning cloak that was definitely not of Dothraki origin.

Yara was just deciding whether to wake the queen or let sleeping dragons lay, when her eyes fluttered open and she smiled.

  
  


***

  
  


Tormund had insisted that they stop and make camp, the people could ride no further. Jon had agreed with a displeased grunt and stayed on the main road another mile or so until an inn came into view. The freefolk camped in the woods behind the establishment and hunted their own supper as they had no Westerosi coin for ale or board.

Jon was still being strange. Whatever he had seen in the north seemed to have changed him, though Tormund hoped not forever. He was single-minded in his quest - whatever it was - and mostly oblivious to the fears of his people, who had never been so far south. Tormund had had to give a lot of reassurance that Jon hadn’t steered them wrong before and they must trust him now.

“I have to go into the inn, see what people are saying” Jon’s cold voice startled Tormund from the rabbit he was skinning.

“No coin. You’ll have to pay.” Tormund stood with a teasing smile at his friend, which was not returned.

After several minutes of convincing Ghost not to follow, the two men made the short walk through the woods until lamplight came into view and the smell of broth and the sound of drunken laughter came spilling out of a large stone building - large by Tormund’s standards anyway, every quaint home they passed still looked like a castle to him, despite his time in Winterfell and Castle Black.

Tormund had been looking for a time to question Jon about the reason for their journey, away from the curious ears of the their people, but as they slid into a dark corner with their mugs of ale, he was silenced by Jon’s intense face as he listened all about him for the gossip of the southerners. Tormund listened too.

“... wouldn’t buy anything from him… said Westerosi goods wouldn’t sell… sailed all the way over to Braavos, the seas nearly killed ‘im…” hushed whispers in southern accents made their way to Jon and Tormund from a couple of tables over.

“... winter can’t go on much longer, I’ve already heard of some babes and old ‘uns not making it. It’s the young that’ll be starving next.” The first man’s companion answered.

“What’s the point of all these lords and  _ masters of coin”  _ he said the last part in a mocking voice “if they can’t get us no food to see us to spring?” The first man’s voice grew with his annoyance.

“Shhh,”  the second man urged his friend “they say that cripple boy can see through the eyes of animals. Any rat in the corner could be listening”

Tormund took a sip of his weak Westerosi drink, feeling very sheepish -  _ he  _ was the listening rat in the corner.

“... planned on robbing Highgarden. Didn’t  _ do  _ it, mind you, but they took him anyway. Good man, he was, too.”

The two men leaned in closer and began speaking too quiet, so Tormund turned to Jon, to ask him if he could make any sense of the end of that conversation, but Jon’s head was turned the other side, his expression one of disbelief and sorrow. This was the most emotion Tormund had seen from Jon in several moons, so he strained his hearing to Jon’s side the room.

“... they say she’s going to come back here soon. They made her angry, all them that plotted against her. We’ll pay for pissing off that dragon queen, I know it.”

“We already are. Every trader from across the sea says she’s the chosen one of some foreign god or other and they’re all afraid of making this god angry. That’s why they won’t buy from us.”

“Chosen of some heathen god?” This voice sounded skeptical.

“How else does some woman come back from the dead? It’s for revenge, I tell you. May the seven save whoever wronged her.” 

At this, Jon stood so fast Tormund’s drink was almost knocked into his lap, and he half ran from the inn, drawing more attention than an eavesdropper ought to have done.

Tormund caught up to Jon in the woods, leaning against a tree, his breath catching in his throat as he appeared to be fighting tears.

“They think she’s alive.” Tormund stated the obvious.

Jon nodded. “Rumor from across the sea is that a red priestess resurrected her. I mean, it makes sense… Melisandre brought  _ me  _ back, and Daenerys was - is …  _ more.” _

“They think she’ll come back and destroy everything. Do you?” 

“I think she would have done it already, her temper is a scary thing. But I’m not even sure what’s real now” Jon admitted.

Since his friend was being more open than he’d been in so long, Tormund thought now was as good a time as any for his other questions. “Snow?” He began slowly “Why are we here? What happened in the north that you would risk your life, and your people, to suddenly march south again? What do you want from your brother?”

Jon looked at him long and hard, his tears long forgotten and his expression cold again.

“I don’t know anything, Tormund. Like you, I’ve got more questions than answers. That’s why we’re here, I think Bran, or whatever he is now, has the answers.” Jon’s expression got bleak and completely empty, before he let out a breath and went on. “You’re right, with what you’ve guessed already, something  _ did  _ happen to me up there... I found this place. It was cold and dark and dead, but it was calling to me. Like it had something to show me… and it did. I just don’t know what.”

Tormund stood silent, not knowing what to say and not liking where this was going. Jon went on “I remember being cold. It went through my furs, through my skin and into me. Into my heart. Not just cold like the winter, it felt like fear, it felt like… the darkness that took over me as I died. But when I died there was nothing, this time I dreamed. I saw things, like visions or prophecies, I don’t know. I saw my siblings beneath the tree in Winterfell’s godswood… except Tyrion Lannister - the dwarf - was there too, listening and whispering to Bran. I saw Daenerys dead, but not in the Red Keep as she had been, I saw saw her body in a tent, with Rhaegal, the dragon I rode, beside her. I saw her killing the city and myself killing _her_ , but above it all was a great raven, watching.”

Tormund was still unsure what to make of Jon’s words, he’d need time to think. But the words of the man in the inn came back him and he clung to one piece of information he was beginning to understand.

“They were saying something inside about your brother watching people. That he can see when people are going to do something before they do it.”

“Yes.” Jon nodded, still lost in his memories. “He’s a warg, as you know. I never imagined he’d misuse that power, but I’m questioning a lot of things now.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I’m starting to think how convenient it is that a being who can see so much said so little and ended up being king. What could he have told us? How many lives could’ve been spared?”

“You think he planned this?” But Bran was just a boy, and a Stark too. Tormund found it hard to believe.

“Or Tyrion did. The dwarf.” Jon looked frustrated now. “That’s why I need to see him. I need to look in his eyes and ask him. I need to see if my brother is even still there. There’s still so much that doesn’t make sense, even now.” Jon gestured around him at the empty woods. “Where are they? Sansa had us escorted across the North by her men, and sent a message to Bran that we were coming, so where are they? Bran and his council are paying enough men to do their bidding that they can arrest people even this far from the capital and damn near a hundred wildlings haven’t exactly been unnoticeable.”

“Maybe he trusts you more than your sister does. Or maybe he’s watching us in his own way.” Tormund tried but those reasons didn’t make much sense to him.

“I haven’t seen any ravens flying overhead, or any large birds… I don’t think he can see us.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know. I think… I feel… I feel like whatever darkness got inside me up north, it’s still in me. And I don’t think _he_ can see through it.”

Tormund simply stood looking at his friend for many moments, thinking on his words. If even half of what Jon said was true then they still had a dangerous enemy. Was it really their job to fight this one though? The free folk had fought the Night King and his army long before Westeros had joined the war. Must his people really fight this too? But of course, the Three Eyed Raven had come from the north and even it hadn’t, Bran was Jon’s brother, he would never walk away from this.

“Now I don’t know which way to go.” Jon spoke again into the heavy silence.

“What do you mean? You know where to find your brother, don’t you?”

“Yes. And I could go there now and find out the truth for myself, but now it seems there is someone else who deserves to hear it. Daenerys.” He spoke her name like a prayer. He still loved her. The mention of her was the only thing that brought life back into his eyes. “Do I keep going south and chase the truth or do I go east and chase a rumor?”

“East? Across the sea?” Tormund didn’t much like that idea, south was bad enough.

“Yes. Daenerys came from Essos and if she was truly brought back then that’s where she’ll be.  _ If  _ she’s back. And if I can find her. And if she doesn’t roast me on sight.”

“Lot of ‘if’s in there, Snow. The people are already in a foreign land, they followed you because they believe in you, but now you ask them to sail across the sea to a place most of them have never even heard of. How big is Essos?”

“Big.” Jon replied “Much bigger than all of Westeros. But Dany was a legend there before she came here. If she was truly brought back from death, it shouldn’t be too hard to follow the stories to her.” To Tormund’s dismay, the little crow seemed to be making up his mind already.

“We can’t take all the people anyway,” Jon was already talking about the practicalities “I don’t have enough coin to pay for more than a few people’s passage across the sea, and even then, we may have to work for our keep.” Jon thought a moment “They can hide in the hills of the vale, there are tribes there, but they should fit in with them pretty well. And I'll leave Ghost for protection. It’s not far east of here to Maidenpool. From what I heard in the inn, a lot of merchants are sailing east to try to trade. We can go from there.”

Tormund found himself being knocked speechless by Jon’s growing excitement. Himself, he didn’t know if he even  _ wanted  _ to sail across the sea to a strange land. To leave his people in a place they didn’t know.

Jon clearly saw the doubt on Tormund’s face because his voice got stern. “Daenerys crossed the world to save us, north of Eastwatch. Have you forgotten? If she truly lives, we owe this to her. We will cross the world to her, this time.” With a nod he turned away, his black cloak fading into the darkness.

_ Well, that’s that. Guess I’m sailing across the sea.  _ T he thought made Tormund’s stomach roll… or maybe that was the pissy southern ale.


	3. Butterfly Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yara finds Daenerys in the east.

“So, it seems like it was a mistake to elect a king who can spy on anyone at any time.” Yara finished, realizing as she spoke, how all of this must sound to a woman who left Westeros as a corpse.

Unsurprisingly, Daenerys raised an eyebrow, smiling at Yara like she was a child with an amusing story. “And that thought did not occur to anyone  _ before _ he started arresting people for crimes he’d been watching them plot?” She sounded totally incredulous.

The Dragon Queen did not seem to doubt Yara’s story - she’d certainly seen stranger things in her life - but appeared more to be questioning the intelligence of the lords and ladies of the Six Kingdoms. 

Yara had sat cross-legged in front of Daenerys under her pavillion and told her everything that had happened, while children ran in and out with food and drink for the two women. The queen had listened in silence as Brandon Stark had been chosen king, Tyrion Lannister had become his hand, a less-than-worthy small council had been chosen and Jon had only been exiled for his treason. Yara told how she had wanted to throw Jon into the middle of the Dothraki and Unsullied and see what was left of him after ten minutes. Daenerys already knew that her Unsullied had sailed to Naath in an effort to protect that area of the Summer Sea from slavers and corsairs, perhaps she’d heard it from her few returning riders. Yara went on to explain how winter, and years of war that had preceded it, had taken a devastating toll on the small folk and yet they were taxed harder than ever so the council could pay men to put down dissension. Street whores were taxed as hard as wine merchants and while people silently hated the new ruler, they did not voice their anger for fear of being watched and punished. Throughout all of this, Daenerys was quiet, the only clues to her thoughts were her expressive eyes, full of anger and compassion and concern.

“Winter is not the time for revolutions but I don’t believe many will make it to spring unless someone frees the people. That’s why I came here, your grace.”

“Your people are welcome here, Yara. I think you’ll find there are few differences between Ironborn and Dothraki, save the nature of the seas we live in.”

Yara was confused. “If you return to Westeros, you would be a liberator, just as you were in Slaver’s Bay. We need you.”

At this, the queen’s head snapped up from her spicy venison stew, a look of horror in her eyes. “What? No. I will not go west again. I spent all my life looking west, looking for home, but now I’ve stopped looking I realize my home was here all along. I will not sail for Westeros.” And at that, she jumped up and half ran from the pavilion, her shimmering cloak catching the setting sun.

Yara got up to follow, her much longer legs quickly catching up with her queen. Daenerys kept walking, the grass getting longer as the city began to fall away behind them. Yara tried to reason with her. “You are the only one with the strength to do this. You have to, you’re our queen.”

“ _ You  _ were supposed to be Queen of the Iron Islands, remember?” Daenerys shot back without breaking her stride.

“You killed Cersei, she was the last queen.” Yara was getting angry now too. Could she not see that no one else had the power to help? Or did she not care?

“By that logic, you should ask Jon Snow to save you.  _ He  _ killed  _ me.” _

“You fought the Battle of Winterfell. You freed King’s Landing from Cersei fucking Lannister. Who else can fight the Three Eyed Raven?”

Daenerys stopped suddenly and turned so fast Yara almost walked into her. “Freed?” There was a rage in her eyes. Yara had heard of her fiery temper but had never wanted to be on the receiving end of it. Her eyes flashed as she went on “Freed is an interesting way of saying ‘destroyed’. I killed thousands of people, Yara. They don’t want me, they would run in terror to see me again. I fought the army of the dead and still they did not want me. A foreign invader.”

Yara’s anger faded with Daenerys’s last words. She may not want to show it, but she was clearly hurt by what had happened in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Please.” Yara tried. “I thought you wanted to leave the world better than you found it.”

Daenerys sighed, her anger fading too. “There’s more to the world than Westeros. I’ve helped people here and I can help them more… You know that old saying ‘When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die’? Well, I played. And I died. I lost… everything.” She looked back over Yara’s shoulder towards the pavillion. “Almost everything.” She corrected. “Now I’m trying to make the best of what I have  _ now,  _ not what I had or what I could’ve had. I’m not a queen now, but I’m happy.”

“You  _ are  _ a queen. I’ve heard the children call you Khaleesi. It’s not something you can just stop being.”

Daenerys just smiled peacefully. “In name, perhaps. I hear my peoples’ troubles and give them advice. Drogon and I guard the grasslands from threats. But I neither make laws nor dole out punishments… I leave that to the wise women of the Dosh Khaleen. I trust their judgment more than my own. In Westeros I lost everything. I think I even started to lose my mind. The people I killed were innocent and their blood is on my hands.”

Yara was angry again, this time not at Daenerys, but at the people who did this to her. “Fuck their blood. I don’t care about the people of King’s Landing, they deserved all they got. Those same people cheered as my uncle paraded me through the city on a chain, like an animal. If there is just one thing you  _ can’t _ lose, it’s faith in yourself.”

“I don’t think there’s any place for dragons in the world anymore, Yara.” Daenerys sounded completely lost. “And I owe Westeros nothing. I’m sorry, my friend.”

Daenerys walked away, her eyes filling with tears. 

 

Yara walked back to the city slowly, trying to decide her next course. She had come all the way here, across the world, it seemed foolish not to stay a while and try to convince Daenerys that the west was still worth helping. Yara had thought she would find the Dragon Queen full of wrath and vengeance, it had not occurred to her that Daenerys might have found some measure of peace and contentment, far away from the petty games of the high lords.   _ Perhaps she’ll change her mind… or perhaps I was selfish to ask this of her. She died in Westeros and I’m asking her to come back and fight for us. Back to war and winter. _ As she entered the clearing, Yara realized Daenerys would not be the only one she would struggle to convince to leave. Her men had made themselves at home. Daenerys had been right, there were few differences in culture between the Ironborn and Dothraki. Her men were drunk and laughing with the horse lords, women seemed to find the pale eyes and salt-weathered skin of the sailors fascinating and were draped all over them. And a language barrier was no match for drink as the Dothraki men gestured to objects and mimed out what they were trying to say, followed by raucous laughter from both sides. Indeed, anything is funny when you are well fed in a warm place for the first time in a long time.  _ Maybe I won’t mention to any of them that the queen said they were welcome to stay. _

  
  


***

  
  


_I’m not that woman anymore_ Dany tried to convince herself but she knew it was a lie. The fire was still inside her, stronger than ever before. The Lord of Light had seen to that when he brought her back. She sat near the summit of the Mother of Mountains, looking down on the lights of the city below. Drogon had flown up and helped her start a small fire in the cooler mountain air. Daenerys sat cross-legged with her hands in the fire, letting her fingers dance with the flames. Kinvara would stare into fires for hours and come out with knowledge and answers to her questions, but Dany could see nothing but the memories of falling buildings and screaming children.

_ Whatever they have now, it must be better than me.  _ But Dany knew that was a lie too. If she was honest with herself, she knew the true reason she did not want to go west again was fear. She was afraid to confront what happened there, she was afraid to be judged by the people of the land… by people like Tyrion who saw her as nothing more than a monster. And more than that, she was afraid she might see  _ him _ again.

And yet this was twice now that Yara Greyjoy had crossed great distances to ask for her help. Despite everything, Yara still believed in her. And a part of Dany wanted to prove - to herself as much as anyone - that she was still worthy of people’s faith.

Dany stared into her fire, looking for answers, until there was nothing left but embers and her eyes would not stay open any longer, then she crawled beneath Drogon’s leather wing and dreamed of a blizzard and a howling wolf.

  
  


***

  
  


The sun was already starting to get warm and it had barely been up for an hour. Yara had coaxed her very grumpy and still half drunk men onto their horses and made a quiet exit from the sleeping city a couple of hours before dawn. Maybe it would be considered rude to leave without saying goodbye to their hosts, but Yara doubted it. This was not Westeros and the Dothraki said only what they meant and did only what pleased them and did not trouble themselves with pointless words of farewell or what the high born would consider ‘good etiquette’. She also doubted they would mind that her company had taken some of their food and drink to see them back across the grass - after all, their Khaleesi had said they could stay. 

Her people were unhappy at having to make the long journey again, so soon after arriving, but Yara did not want them to get too comfortable. They may have wanted to stay a while but the rest of their people were still at home on the Iron Islands and they were still in danger. If Daenerys did not want to help then they would have to think of something else. Yara did not know what, but she’d have plenty of time to consider, as they rode back over the continent. Maybe they could take all their ships and go out to sea? Or find a new home, as Queen Nymeria had once done?

 

Yara was lost in thought in thought under the warm morning sun when a shadow briefly covered it. Before she could even look up, she heard the sound of many rapidly-approaching hooves. Around fifty Dothraki, men and women warriors, came galloping through the long grass and surrounded them, though their weapons were not drawn. Yara’s small company did not seem afraid of the ambush - they had been drinking with many of these people just a few hours earlier.

A roar overhead reminded Yara of the shadow that had first pulled her from her musings, and Drogon swooped down, his wings blowing the grass almost flat, and landed directly in their path. Yara dismounted as she saw Daenerys doing so, and the two women met among the crowd of their people.

“You left without saying goodbye.” Daenerys smiled but her hurt looked at least partially genuine.

“My people need me. I can’t leave them to whatever fate awaits them. You were right, you owe us nothing. It was selfish of me to ask this of you when you’ve already lost so much for us.”  _ And I wasn’t sure how to say goodbye,  _ Yara added silently.

Daenerys lowered her voice, for only Yara to hear. “I want to help you, you’ve come so far for me. But I don’t have armies now, only a few bloodriders, and I couldn’t bear to ask them to cross the poison water for me again. I don’t want to return to Westeros to rule it or conquer it or to harm any more of its people. I asked the wise women of the Dosh Khaleen for advice. They all said to stay where we are safe and strong, and maybe they are right, but my instinct tells me I should not turn you away.” She smiled and began speaking at a normal volume again, clear and strong so Yara’s company could hear. “I wish to help you, but first I would like to seek the advice of an old and wise friend of mine.”

Yara could not believe what she heard. Daenerys would risk her son, her last surviving child, to help a people that had rejected her utterly. Her fondness and respect for the Dragon Queen grew and she found her smiling at Daenerys as she pulled a roll of parchment from her red cloak. 

“Here” Daenerys walked over to one of Yara’s men and handed him the parchment. “My Dothraki will accompany you across the sea, they are better at hunting food and finding water and will keep you safe. This is  _ their  _ sea, no one knows it better.” Yara’s man nodded, and some of the others were already beginning to share winks with the women and mimed conversations with the men. “They will escort you to the Free City of Pentos” Daenerys continued. “To the home of Illyrio Mopatis, a Magister of the city. He’s a friend. If anything should delay me and you arrive first, give him the letter and you will be welcomed into his estate and given all the comforts you could need.”

“Yara” Daenerys turned back to her now. “Will you accompany me to Volantis to hear the council of my dear friend?”

Yara nodded, a little confused. Volantis was in a completely different direction. She turned to her men. “Wait for me in Pentos.” She told them, trying to convey confidence to each of them before they parted.

“Oh, we’ll likely arrive before them” Daenerys called. She was already on Drogon’s back. With a smirk and a mischievous glint in her eye, the Silver Queen gestured to Yara with a nod of her head, and patted the dragon’s scaly back, behind where she was mounted.

On realizing what the queen meant, Yara’s mouth dropped open as she searched for something to say.  You  _are_ mad!  Seemed a little rude, so she found herself sputtering and speechless. This made Daenerys’s smirk turn into a wide, toothy smile.  _ She’s enjoying this.  _ Yara thought.  _ Well, no one ever said Yara Greyjoy was a coward and I grew up on the cliffs of Pyke. How different could this be? _

Before she could overthink it, Yara followed the queen’s steps up the dragon’s wing and perched herself behind Daenerys, wrapping her arms about her waist as one would do on the back of a horse.

It was only once they were in the air and Yara dared to open her eyes, that she realized dragons flew  _ much  _ higher than the cliffs of Pyke, and it was indeed very different.

  
  


***

  
  


The Red Temple was the first building that came into view as they approached Volantis, and Dany’s heart lifted at the sight of it. She could see its fires burning in the half light of dawn, illuminating the lush gardens and vine-covered terraces. The rest of the city and the Long Bridge detached themselves from the haze as Drogon began to drop lower, knowing where he was aiming for and flying faster in his haste to see his friend Kinvara again, so she could shower him with compliments on being the ‘smartest creature to ever live’ for bringing Dany’s body to her. Dany smiled at the memories.

When the port and the sea beyond came into view, she felt her stomach jump into her throat. There was a fleet of ships dropping anchor in the bay and rowing long boats towards the shore. The sails of the ships were black with some kind of red sigil. With a rising dread, she urged Drogon directly over the temple and towards the bay. They were as she suspected. Her own ships, the three headed dragon still emblazoned across their sails. Her Unsullied had taken these ships to protect the people of Naath, in Missandei’s honor. Had they been lost to pirates? Had slavers captured her beloved men?

She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the black uniforms and spiked helms of her Unsullied in the long boats and even heard faint shouts from below. 

“They are wounded. Or sick.” Yara called loudly in her ear.

“How do you know?” Wounded? Dany began to panic again. Had they been in a battle?

“Some of them are laying in the boats with blankets over them.”

Dany could not make out what she reported, so clearly Yara had better sight. She circled Drogon back around to the temple, landing neatly by a fountain.

Kinvara already awaited them as they climbed down, looking as lovely as ever. Yara’s face was a little pale, her cheeks red and her brown hair windswept and tangled. She had been fearless and trusting in climbing on Drogon’s back and Dany would not soon forget it.

Dany hugged Kinvara tightly and they kissed cheeks. Yara came closer, looking more composed now her feet were back on the ground.

“High Priestess Kinvara of the Red Temple of Volantis. Flame of Truth and Light of Wisdom. First Servant of the Lord of Light.” Daenerys introduced her formally. “This is Yara of House Greyjoy. Queen of the Iron Islands of Westeros.”

“A pleasure, Your Grace.” Kinvara welcomed Yara respectfully, with a bow of her head. Yara awkwardly returned the gesture, looking in awe of the woman and not seeming to know the formal etiquette for a queen meeting a high priestess. Dany smiled at her two friends.

“Yara, I know we’ve just arrived and you must be tired, but may I ask a favor?” Dany did not wait for Yara to reply - desperation nawed at her. “If something has truly befallen my Unsullied, they will need somewhere safe. Please could you take some of the temple’s men and carriages and bring them here to me. I would go myself but my progress would be much slower, as I’m well known here and very recognizable.”

“Moqorro?” Kinvara called to a priest. “This one speaks the common tongue.” She told Yara as he approached. “Tell him what you need and he will see it done.”

 

Once Yara had hurried away, Daenerys and Kinvara walked side by side, exchanging pleasantries and each telling the other how much they had missed them. But they had not yet reached the temple door when Dany could no longer hold her questions.

“I’m guessing you knew I was coming. How long ago did you foresee me? Were you expecting my Unsullied too? Do you know why I’m here? What -”

Kinvara cut her off “I will try to answer any questions you have, my friend, but… one at a time” She giggled. Her warm, musical accent eased the panic rising in Dany’s heart.

 

The women made their way to a pile of cushions, on a terrace overlooking the city and settled into them with figs and wine.

“I saw you in the flames five days ago, but the Unsullied I’ve been expecting for much longer. A sickness has taken them, though the worst passed on their journey here. Most of those who still live now will survive and heal. They will be well cared-for here. Like you, they are a symbol of freedom and hope and the free people of Volantis will welcome them as heroes.”

Dany breathed a sigh of relief. If the Volanteens treated her men with even half the kindness they had shown her when she healed here, they would be showered with love. And once they were strong, if they still wished to help her, she could give them a purpose. Go to Vaes Dothrak and unite with our people there. Protect the women and children… if they wanted to.

“Do they know that I live?” Dany asked. Would they be pleased to see her, or not?

“I’m sure they have heard rumors, even in the Summer Sea. Don’t worry, they still fight beneath your banner and call you their queen.” Kinvara guessed Dany’s concerns in her typically wise way.

Dany nodded, her chief worry for her men easing to let other troubles be made known.

“I do not know exactly why you come to me though. I’m guessing the Westerosi woman who came with you brought you news from across the Narrow Sea.” Kinvara nodded to herself as if figuring something out. “You know about the Three Eyed Raven. He troubles us here too. The Lord of Light shows us all visions of him, though  _ he _ cannot see  _ us. _ We are protected from his eye.”

“Yara tells of tyranny and fear in the Six Kingdoms. She’s asked for my help.”

“But you are unsure if your path leads you westward again.” Kinvara did not phrase it as a question.

Dany hoped for a simple yes or no, but Kinvara rarely answered so plainly. “I made mistakes there and they cost me dearly. What if I went and something happened to Drogon? He’s my only real reason for living now and I could not bear to see him hurt… or worse.” Dany shuddered before continuing “I don’t wish to see Westeros again. Words mean nothing there. All they do is talk and talk and all it is is wind. Threats and plots and bluffs and empty promises. I do not want to play their cruel game again.”

“Fear not, your destiny is in the east. And yet, if you go west, you will find answers to questions you have not yet thought of. The plots of the Three Eyed Raven go back further than you can guess. There is still so much you don’t know, Mhysa.” 

“I belong in the east, but I should still go west? I don’t understand.” Dany did not want riddles, only advice.

“You already know this. You already know you cannot walk away, now you know of suffering. You could not walk away from the Lhazareen women that Drogo’s rider sought to enslave. You could not walk away from Astapor or Yunkai or Meereen. You could not walk away from The North when darkness approached. And we both know you cannot walk away from Queen Yara now. You only came to me because you do not trust yourself. But you should. You are the Lord’s chosen one and in your heart, you already know what is right. There is one more battle in this war, and when it is over, you must show the Westerosi a new way.”

Dany sighed. Maybe part of her wanted Kinvara to tell her that Yara was exaggerating or that it was for the Westerosi to fix their own mess this time. Or even to tell her she was being power hungry and to go back to her tent in the grass. Dany truly did not want to go west, but as always, Kinvara was right. She could not ignore the world’s suffering, even when it was none of her business.

  
  


Yara returned a few hours later with the first of the Unsullied. The sickest came on carts, the healthy marching beside them. Dany thanked Yara for her help and told her she could go and rest in the High Priestess’s rooms but like a true queen, Yara shrugged off her weariness and helped Dany take charge, the two of them directing the healthy and sick to different halls, ordering food to be prepared and having water, blankets, herbs and healers brought from all over the city. No one that could speak the common tongue was safe from Yara’s orders as she kept up effortlessly with the stream of people. Daenerys, Yara and Kinvara soon had everyone settled, fed and comfortable as the stream of soldiers began to slow.

_ So few, _ Dany thought with dismay.  _ There can’t be more than a thousand left of my loyal warriors.  _ Grey Worm arrived last of all, having insisted on waiting on the docks for all of his men to get ashore. Dany had been told he was among the healthy but as he stumbled up the temple steps, he did not  _ look _ healthy. His beautiful dark skin looked pale from stress and lack of sleep, dark circles under his haunted eyes. On seeing him, Dany flew down the steps and wrapped her arms around him. The two had never shared physical affection before but Grey Worm clung to her tightly, as if she fed him strength.

When he finally released her, he spoke sadly. “They call it the butterfly sickness, my queen. Naath’s butterflies are so beautiful but they carry this illness, and only Naathi people are unaffected. Two out of three of the men got sick. Three out of four that got sick were lost. Yet we were able to defeat many slaver ships and protected the people of Naath for as long as we could. It is so perfect there, my queen. I wish you could have seen that place, and its people.” Grey Worm spoke with reverence, and a smile softened his face. 

_ Being there made him feel closer to Missandei. _ Dany missed her friend terribly. Sometimes in the stillness of night, she would think of things that had happened in the day that she planned to tell Missandei about in the morning… before realizing she would never share secrets with her again, never see her soft eyes, never feel her gentle fingers braiding her hair… Dany’s eyes filled with tears as she helped Grey Worm up the stairs into the cool, dark temple.

Dany was going to offer Grey Worm the room she had stayed in during her recovery, but realized such a thing would insult him. He would stay with his men, always. If they slept on the floor of one of the terraces, then so would he.

Yara and Kinvara joined the two of them to finally rest and break their fast - though it was now late afternoon. Kinvara assured everyone that the Red Temple would provide all they needed for as long as they needed. Then Dany told Grey Worm - and Yara, who also had not heard - the story of how Drogon carried her body straight to the temple, where Kinvara placed her on a pyre and she and the people chanted and prayed for twelve hours without stopping, until Dany had awakened. Grey Worm spoke more about the beauty of Naath and the peaceful people who inhabited the island. He spoke of birds and dancing and how the people greeted everyone, no matter how well they were acquainted, as if they were a most beloved family member. He spoke with passion and love in his voice, full of life and excitement.

Finally, Yara retold her story from Vaes Dothrak about how King Bran was able to spy on anyone and everyone, taxes threatened starvation to the poor and hired mercenaries controlled the small folk. Kinvara listened without surprise, as if this only confirmed what the flames had already shown her. 

When Yara had finished, Grey Worm turned to Daenerys. “The men can be fit in a month. I guess you are here with her because you plan to go back. The Unsullied come too. We will not fail the Mother of Dragons again. No harm will come to our queen this time.”

Dany’s heart swelled with pride.  _ So fearless,  _ she thought. “No, Grey Worm. I am not going west to conquer and I will not be staying. On Naath you found your peace. I can see it in your eyes and the eyes of your men. I would not have you lose that again in the blood of battle.” She placed her hand on his cheek. “You will stay here and heal. And when you are strong, I would have you cross the Great Grass Sea to Vaes Dothrak. You are needed there, the people would be undefended if anyone came for them. Carry a piece of Naath with you to our people and I will rejoin you as soon as I can. I promise… If that is what you choose. Of course, you and your men are free to go where you will.”

“And if we choose to follow our queen?” Grey Worm asked, a stubborn look in his eyes.

Dany sighed and bowed her head.  _ Freedom means making your own choices,  _ she reminded herself. “If that is what you choose, I cannot stop you. But you must know, my heart could not handle losing any more of my people. I beg you to stay in the east.”

  
  


***

  
  


Begrudgingly, the Unsullied agreed among themselves to follow the queen’s wishes and stay in Volantis until they were well, and then travel to Vaes Dothrak. For what it was worth, Yara wished they were coming back to Westeros too, to protect Daenerys and fight the Gold Cloaks if it came to that. Paid thugs would be no match for loyal warriors, fighting for freedom in the name of the queen they loved. But Yara understood where Daenerys was coming from. It would take many resources to move the Unsullied across the world just to move them back again once the Stark boy and his council had been removed, and the journey across the Narrow Sea in winter would always be risky.

They stayed at the Red Temple for a month. Daenerys spent every moment she could with her recovering soldiers, moving from bed to bed and speaking with each of them in turn, telling them how brave and loyal they were and wiping away their sweat with a cool cloth.

When she was not doing that, she flew with Drogon, hunting with him and watching around the perimeter of the city for anything that might attack while her men were vulnerable. Yara made plans for the journey west with the queen and the high priestess, the three discussing how to fight an enemy who could see you coming. The beautiful priestess believed that her god protected Daenerys from being spied upon, and though Yara did not want to admit it, it was the only explanation that made sense.

When the day came that Yara would leave to reunite with her men, in Pentos, the free people of the city and the soldiers that were healthy enough, came to wave the queen and her dragon off, with gifts and cheers. A little girl Yara had seen around the temple presented her with a small wooden carving of a kraken and Daenerys with a matching dragon. Yara fought hard to hide how much this small gesture touched her. High Priestess Kinvara presented Daenerys with two gifts: an ornate box - which came with the cryptic instruction ‘for when the time comes’ - and a new cloak, this one of thick red wool, embroidered along the bottom with garnet stones to look like flames and lined on the inside with black fur - Targaryen colors. Daenerys and Yara made their way through the crowd and onto Drogon’s back. With one last wave they were airborne, Yara once again leaving her stomach far below the clouds, as they flew up the Rhoyne and then northwest towards the coast.

 

As promised, they arrived before the Dothraki and Ironborn. Daenerys said they could probably expect them in a couple of weeks. Yara was really beginning to see the advantages of dragon travel.

 

Daenerys, in the beautiful home of the fat man she called Illyrio, was a strange sight. As soon as they were settled in, the queen wandered around barefoot, in gowns of wispy silk, curling herself up on the furniture and calling all the servants by name.  _ It’s as if she’s lived here before,  _ Yara mused, as she watched Daenerys return from the kitchen with a bowl of spiced peaches in hand, her hair loose around her shoulders and her feet slapping against the marble floor.

 

One night, Daenerys returned home late on Drogon. As she dropped heavily onto a couch beside Yara, on the veranda overlooking the gardens at the back of the house, she smiled. “Your men and my riders will be here in about four days. I saw them earlier, they’d just made camp for the night. I landed and spoke to them for a while. They are all in good spirits and asked after you. I said you were eager to be reunited with them.”

That much was true. Though Yara was not as close and affectionate with the old sea dogs who had accompanied her as Daenerys was with her people, she valued them greatly and felt guilty for leaving them alone with strange people in a strange place.

That guilt, however, disappeared almost immediately when her men reached the house. It seemed they’d had a more enjoyable few weeks than Yara had, and had not exactly hurried across the grasslands. A few of them proudly greeted Daenerys in broken Dothraki, making the queen grin widely, and most of them had removed their Westerosi armor in favor of their loose cotton under-tunics and supple horse skin pants.  _ They’ve gone native,  _ Yara thought, shaking her head at them,  _ so much for missing their Lady and being terribly homesick _ . In truth, she was glad their return had been more enjoyable than the journey into the unknown on their way there… But if they thought they could keep the Dothraki women, they were likely to be in for a shock… 


	4. Two Targaryen Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all going down in Pentos

“We should’ve got the ship to Volantis instead.” Jon scowled around him. Volantis would have been closer to Meereen, the city Dany had lived in before she came west. She was more likely to be over there, than here in Pentos.

“You said that journey would’ve taken months longer  _ and  _ cost more. The past few weeks on that fucking ship were plenty for me. If we need to keep going east, we can go by road from here, right?” Tormund seemed almost relieved to be back on land, but looked unimpressed with the warmer climate of Essos. He began stripping his furs off, down to his rough woolen undertunic.

“The road from Pentos to Volantis is an Old Valyrian road called the ‘Demon Road’ and it’s incredibly dangerous. We’d be best trying to find another ship, sailing for Volantis, Meereen or Astapor.” Jon continued, looking around him for ships that looked to be loading. “I just hope the captain speaks the common tongue, because I don’t know any Valyrian.”

Jon caught sight of pale hair down the dock and his heart jumped into his throat for a moment, before he saw that this hair belonged to a man. He was stood by a fancy-looking ship, being loaded up with crates.  _ Good enough place to start _ , Jon thought, as he set off towards him. The man was speaking rapidly in some form of Valyrian, to a man with a dyed blue beard. Jon was about to interrupt their conversation when he heard two words that he  _ did  _ understand - two words that punched him in the gut: “... Daenerys Targaryen…”

Tormund must’ve sensed Jon’s shock at hearing her name less than half an hour after coming ashore because his friend placed a hand on his shoulder. The more he thought of her, the more alive he felt, the closer to her he got, the more he allowed hope to get a hold of him.  _ Maybe I will have another chance to tell her I love her. To say all the things I was too afraid to, before. _

As if answering his thoughts, a roar shook the port, and every face turned skywards. Drogon soared above the city, high enough that no one would have noticed him, if not for his screech. He flew northward, towards a series of large, isolated homes on the edge of the city, dropping lower as if to land.

_ Here? Now?  _ It seemed impossible that he would find her so easily.  _ Maybe it was meant to happen. _ But Jon had not even thought of what he would say to her yet. He thought he’d have more time.

“Snow!” Tormund’s voice pulled him back. “If her dragon is here, then maybe she is. We should try to follow it. It went north.”

Pulled back to reality, Jon noticed that none of those on the dock were afraid of the dragon that had flown over them. Most watched him with fascination, a few got bored of the spectacle after a moment and continued what they were doing, but a handful of people cheered, raising their palms to the sky in the direction he went and calling after him in a strange language.

“This can’t be the first time they’ve seen him, or even the tenth. They’re so used to him, as if he’s a daily sight. If she’s here, she must’ve been here a while. Just across the sea… So close… Horses. We need horses.” Now with a purpose, he strode off the dock, looking for a stable.

 

As they got further from the busiest part of the city , the homes got larger and more luxurious, built into the steep hills where the bay began to curve around westward. They knew they were closer to where Drogon had landed, but could not guess which exact estate it had been. They were walking their horses up the winding road of large, extravagant-looking entrance arches, one after the next, trying to find some hint of where a dragon could be. Tormund looked completely awestruck by the exquisite homes, not as imposing as Westerosi castles but far more beautiful in their design. A screech pulled their attention to a manse atop a hill, overlooking the sea on one side and meadows on the other. Drogon dived from behind the house, off the cliff, then circled back around east over the meadows.

_ What if that was her leaving for good? What if I’ve missed her? Perhaps they are so used to seeing him because she never stops moving and comes and goes all the time. Perhaps she won’t be back for months… _

“Snow! The fuck are you waiting for?” Tormund demanded, slapping Jon’s horse so it sped into a trot.

They followed the road that led to the house the dragon had come from, probably the grandest of all the houses they’d seen yet. As the full beauty of it came into view, a guard stepped out into their path, shouting at them in Valyrian. Since Jon doubted this man spoke the common tongue, he decided to neatly dodge him, Tormund following. This led to the ringing of a bell, lots of shouting and chaos breaking out in the courtyard, as guards surrounded them from all sides, pointing spears at their frightened horses.

Jon was trying to decide whether to try to fight his way into the house and kill as many of these men as he could, or to make the more sensible choice of trying to explain who he was looking for, when another group of men appeared in the front door, their longswords drawn. These men were dressed in the style of the Iron Islands, the kraken of House Greyjoy on their chest plates. A tall, mousy-haired woman in the same dress, pushed through the men, followed by a very large man, in vibrant Pentosi clothes.

The woman could be none other than Yara Greyjoy, and the wealthy-looking man was almost certainly the owner of the house. But none of this explained why a Greyjoy of Pyke was in a rich man’s home in Essos or why Dany’s son had just flown from the man’s garden.

Jon climbed from his horse, Tormund following, looking very much like he wished he were armed. They slowly approached the foot of the stairs that led to the front door, hoping none of the soldiers attacked before he could ask after Daenerys.

As if thinking her name had brought her to him, a small figure pushed through the burly men. She stood at the top of the stairs, more beautiful than any memory Jon could conjure of her. She wore a silk gown of the brightest red, so sheer it showed every curve of her body as it blew in the morning breeze. Her hair had grown. It hung, unbraided, in silver curls down to her hips. Jon’s eyes went, unbidden, to the place between her breasts where an angry red scar seemed to stare at him, accusing.  _ Murderer. _

Jon forced his eyes to meet hers. They were devastated. Full of tears. Her lips were parted and trembled with a sob as she took a breath. Betrayal and pain were clear on her face and she appeared to be shaking. Without thinking, he took a step towards her, one foot touched the bottom step… and she ran. Daenerys Targaryen turned and ran back inside. A few moments later, Jon caught a flash of red across the neat gardens at the side of the house. Dany was the fiercest woman he had ever met. He hadn’t known she even had it in her to run.

 

After what seemed like hours of time standing still, Jon was brought back with a jolt, by an elbow in his ribs. He glanced at Tormund at the side of him, then followed his gaze up to the hostile faces on the steps above them. Yara Greyjoy was looking at him like she wanted to skin him. Her men looked ready to strike at any moment. And the fat man was looking from Jon, to the direction Dany had run in, as if demanding an explanation.

  
  
  


***

  
  


Dany had to remind herself that horses were not dragons and could not go on forever. She finally took pity on the poor beast and came to a stop at a shady lakeside. The mare was slick with sweat and they were both breathing hard. She watched from the horse’s back as her tear-stained reflection rippled in the lake as the horse drank, its breathing gradually calming.

_I look a mess. That’s what love will do to you,_ she thought, chuckling bitterly to herself. Dany had never, in a thousand years, thought to see Jon Snow in front of Magister Illyrio’s home in Pentos. _Essos! He came to Essos?_ She had convinced herself that even when she eventually crossed the sea to help Yara, Jon was exiled and would be a thousand leagues away, freezing his balls off, in the Lands of Always Winter.

Dany had only been out of bed an hour and was discussing the best strategy to unite with the other Westerosi lords to confront the king, when she heard the commotion. She had imagined it might have been former slave owners, angry at their loss of property, as the slave trade crumbled. Or perhaps followers of the Lord of Light, who had wanted to meet her and would not let Illyrio’s guards stop them. The shock of seeing Jon’s face was more than she could bear. She was prepared for the betrayal, the painful memories, the heartbreak… she was not prepared for the love. Even now, she cursed herself. _Stupid, foolish woman._ _How can you still love the man that put a knife in you?_ But love was not so simple, she had learned that at a tender age with Drogo and even Viserys. You could love someone and hate them too.

In honesty, Dany had found herself so overwhelmed at the sight of him, all she could think to do was fly. But Drogon was hunting, so one of the horses in Illyrio’s stables had to do. She had wanted to scream at the men to take off Jon’s head. She had wanted to call Drogon to her to burn him. She had wanted to cry and fall to her knees and ask him why. She had wanted to call him kinslayer and oathbreaker and hit him and claw his pretty eyes out and tear his heart from his chest with her bare hands… it was probably a good thing she had run away instead.

_ Yara has probably dealt with my problem for me by now.  _ The thought made Dany smile.

  
  


***

  
  


“I don’t want to get blood on your couch, Magister, we should take him out onto the lawn.” Yara was not good at being polite when she was so angry. “This queen slaying bastard isn’t worth your servants’ time to clean up after.”

“Watch your mouth, woman!” The bigger companion growled at her.

“Try me, ginger cunt.” She spat back. She was looking for any excuse to finish them both off, and the sooner the better, so she could go and find Daenerys and ask if she was alright.

“Daenerys is the queen in my house. You cannot kill this man until she commands it.” The fat magister said in a firm voice.

Snow was removing his weapons at swordpoint. The Ironborn surrounding him and his ginger friend were practically daring them to try something.

“Please. I didn’t come to hurt her. I heard that she was alive and I had to see.” He sounded pathetic to Yara, his voice whiny and pleading.

“She’s alive. You’ve seen. Too bad you won’t live to try again, or to go back to your family of snakes and tell them.” Yara’s hand twitched on her dagger as she thought of the queen’s location getting out.

“That’s not why I’m here. There’s not a second I haven’t wished I could take it back. Please, let me try to talk to her. If she commands my head on a spike, I’ll let you do it.”

Yara was getting more pissed off with each word he spoke. “How did you even find us? Did  _ he  _ send you?”

“No one sent me. No one even knows I’m here. I heard she lived and I took the first ship to Essos to find out. I was going to find another ship ‘round to Volantis or Meereen or something, but I saw Drogon fly over and followed him to this house. That’s all there is to it. I never expected to find her here, I thought she’d be further east. I thought I’d be looking for months.” He spoke quickly, like a child trying to explain himself.

“Oh, I wish you’d gone to Volantis. If the Unsullied hadn’t found you, the High Priestess would’ve.” Yara smiled, imagining what Kinvara would have done to the man who killed her Chosen One.

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” Snow asked, trying to steer the conversation away from all the possibilities for his death.

Yara knew better than to tell him the whole story, Daenerys would tell him as much as she wanted him to know, when she returned. “Westeros isn’t safe anymore, thanks to your evil brother. Came looking for greener pastures. Like you, I found a dragon instead.”

“And this is…?” He asked, looking at Illyrio.

Yara was unsure how best to explain this part, but the Magister spoke up.

“Illyrio Mopatis. An old friend of Daenerys. I knew her when she was simply the Princess of Dragonstone, the timid sister of an arrogant prince.” The fat man spoke in a friendly tone, as if he were making conversation at a dinner party.

This was new information to Yara. Daenerys hadn’t mentioned how she knew him, or how long for.

On seeing all the curious looks and realizing he had everyone’s attention, Illyrio saw an opportunity to distract from the bloodlust of Yara and her men. He immediately turned into a gracious host.

“Would you all like to hear the story of the last Targaryens?” He asked as if two of the people in the room were not captives with swords against their backs.

Illyrio sat, but upon realizing no one else was about to join him, he started his story, speaking it like a well rehearsed tale.

“When Daenerys was born, no one celebrated. No bells were rung and no toasts were given. Her mother died on the birthing bed and her young brother fled with her into exile. At first, the elite on this side of the sea were honored to welcome the last Targaryens, but as more time passed with the usurper on the throne, they became more of a danger than a wonder. Viserys had to start selling the few heirlooms he had saved, to keep his sister fed. He hated her, of course, the reason their mother had died. And she was such a tiny thing, who had known no other king but him. They had to keep running from people who wanted the bounty for their heads, and begging the wealthy for a bed. The more cruelly the world treated the children, the more cruelly Viserys treated her. When they eventually came to live with me, Daenerys had blossomed. She was a beautiful young woman, and her brother knew it. She became the last heirloom he had to sell. And he wanted his throne and his vengeance, at any price. He sold her off to the Dothraki, and I’m sure you’ve heard the rest.”

Yara’s heart had twisted as this sad story unfolded. Illyrio poured himself a glass of wine, sighed, then went on.

“For her wedding, I bought her a gift. A pretty, ornamental gift, meant only as a symbol of her house: three petrified dragon eggs. They were stone, no more. Daenerys turned those stones into an empire. She fought so that one day, no one would know the feeling of being sold, as she had been.”

The man took a great drink of his wine, before turning to look at Snow, his expression now hard. “You probably wonder why I tell you this. I want you to know that the woman you murdered was once a frightened, beaten child. I let things happen to her then, that I should not have allowed in my house. I will not allow anyone to make Daenerys feel like that again, especially not under my roof. Here, she is queen. Whatever she decides to do with you, it will be done.” With that, he got up and strode from the room, leaving only his guards behind.

  
  
  


***

  
  


“Let me go and search for her. She’s probably with Drogon already, and he could protect her better than anyone.” Jon Snow had gone back to pleading again, but hoped this man, Illyrio, would be more accepting of the idea than the Greyjoy woman.

Yara had left the room shortly after Illyrio, looking emotional at the story of how Daenerys came to be. She had then left on a horse - in completely the wrong direction, Jon noted. Clearly she knows nothing about tracking on land. Jon knew only slightly more than nothing about tracking, but even _ he _ could see the faint trail across the meadow, through the large open doors at the back of the house . He watched that path out of the corner of his eye, without making it obvious to the Ironborn, afraid that it would disappear before he could follow it. Illyrio had come back into the room after an hour or so, asking about the journey and where they had come from.

“I don’t mean her any harm. I’ve wished I could take it back from the moment it happened. It’s like a madness came over me… or something else.” Jon could not possibly explain what he’d seen in his vision, or what he’d begun to believe, but he needed to convince Illyrio Mopatis that he was no threat to the queen. “I love her. And she loved me. Drogon was there when… it happened. And he didn’t kill me. The only reason I can see for that is that he knew his mother would not want me dead.” Jon was bluffing. In truth, he still had no clue why the dragon hadn’t turned him to ash.

Illyrio did not have the same stubborn, hate-filled look in his eyes as Yara had, in fact he looked thoughtful, so Jon took this as encouragement and went on. “This man with me,” he gestured at Tormund “is my best friend. And the sword you took from me is a priceless, Valyrian steel heirloom. I would never abandon either of them, so you know I’ll come back. If I come back without her… you can keep my sword as a gift and kill me.” He saw Tormund’s eyebrows shoot up, out of the corner of his eye. He ignored it. “If I come back with her and she still wants me dead… well, I guess you can keep my sword as a gift anyway, because I won’t need it.”

“And what if I let you go and you hurt her when you find her?” Illyrio asked.

“I’m unarmed and I doubt she’ll let me get that close. And I doubt there’s many, save for Dothraki, who could out-ride her anyway, if she wanted to get away from me. There are things I need to tell her, and I’m sure there are things she needs to tell me, once she gets over her shock.”

Illyrio stared at him for a long time. Jon wanted to look away from his gaze, but he knew that would make him look guilty or untrustworthy.

“Very well.” He answered after several tense minutes. The Ironborn shuffled behind Jon, unimpressed. Tormund didn’t look pleased either.

Jon sighed with relief and stood. “I’ll need my horse.”

 

Dany’s trail was so easy to follow, a child could have done it. Or Yara. Jon hoped she hadn’t found this path yet, or she would kill him on sight, assuming he had escaped or plotted his way free. Jon kept his horse at a steady run, in a hurry to find her before dark. He passed over fields of wheat and goats, beautiful meadows of wildflowers and small forests of Cypress trees. Every time he thought he’d lost the trail, he would find the running hoofprints of a horse in the dry, sandy ground.

The sun was dropping low in the sky by the time his horse needed to rest. Surely, she could not have run much further. He walked on for almost another hour, and he was beginning to think Dany had found Drogon and was on the other side of the world already, when he reached the peak of a hill and saw a color that did not fit with the rest of his view. In the distance, he saw her shimmering red gown, catching the sunlight. She was sitting on her horse, in the shallows of a still lake, a large willow hanging over her, protectively.

Sighing with relief that she was alright, and girding himself for was what sure to be an unpleasant reunion, Jon walked his horse closer, purposely coming around to approach her from the side, so she was not startled.

He approached slowly enough that he was able to admire her again, for a while. Daenerys had never looked less like a queen and yet more powerful. She seemed to glow with a light that came from inside. Her skin was tanned and radiant and her hair blew around her like a veil. She rode all this way with no reins or saddle, her fingers were gently tangled in the mane of her dapple grey mare, and her bare feet hung freely by the horse’s sides.  _ She was in such a hurry to get away from me, she did not even put shoes on. _

But she had not run yet, or even acknowledged his presence, though he was sure she must’ve noticed him by now. He stopped ten paces from her, his own horse standing in the shallow waters, just as hers was.

“I’m sorry for frightening you at the house.” He called across to her. “Must’ve been a shock to see me again, especially this side of the sea.”

She still did not acknowledge him, continuing to stare east, across the lake and into the plains beyond.

“Are you cold?” Jon attempted chivalry instead, though immediately realized he did not have a cloak or blanket to warm her with anyway.

“No.” She answered finally, her voice soft. “I don’t get cold now. Not since the pyre that brought me back to life.”

_ Well, my attempt at chivalry took us straight to the conversation I was putting off. _

“Would’ve been handy when we fought the Night King.” He tried for humor instead.

She smiled, but it was humorless. Sad, even. “Ice and fire.” She murmured.

“I had a dream about you, when I was north of the wall. You were with Rhaegal.” Maybe talking about him would remind Dany of the time the four of them flew together.

“I was with Viserion and Rhaego too. But they woke me up.” She still did not look at him, and now Jon was confused. Did she mean when she was dead?

“I have dreams about you too.” Daenerys went on. “I suppose that’s not really surprising, considering.”

She finally turned to look at him then. Her expression was not aloof, as she had looked in Westeros when something had offended her, it was guarded and distant. Rather than a betrayed queen, she looked like a hurt young woman, and Illyio’s story about Daenerys growing up lonely and afraid came back to Jon, making him feel like a piece of shit. 

“I love you.” Jon blurted.  _ Bit sudden, Snow. Probably should’ve eased into that one, _ he told himself. “Sorry. I’ve wanted to say that to you for so long… never thought I’d get the chance.”

“Because you stabbed me? What did you imagine would happen?” She raised an eyebrow at him, amused and annoyed. Then her expression turned serious again. “Was I really such a monster?” Her voice became thick as tears filled her eyes.

Jon’s heart broke that she thought such a thing of herself. After all the good she had done, fighting for freedom and life, he had made her believe she deserved to die. In that moment, Jon had never cared less about the lives of the small folk. He would not have cared if she had killed all of them, he just wanted to take away the hurt he had caused in her eyes.

“No! You’re not a monster. I think  _ he  _ had something to do with what happened. My brother, Bran. And Tyrion. Bran can control the minds of animals. Maybe he can do it with people too. To you and to me -”

“Stop!” The power of her command made Jon’s horse step back a little. “Just stop, Jon. We are not children. We cannot blame others for our actions. No one forced my hand and no one forced yours. If I have to live with what I did, then so do you.”

_ Of course it sounds to her like I am making excuses _ , Jon thought, frustrated.  _ I wish I could show her what the icy darkness showed me. We were played like puppets.  _ But Daenerys would never pass on the blame for what she did, without evidence. That is not her way.  _ I have to make her see for herself what Bran has become. I have to convince her to come back west with me and confront him. _

“Why did you come here, Jon Snow?” She spoke as if to a stranger.

“I was worried about you. You ran away so suddenly and I knew it would be getting dark -”

“No, why did you come to Essos? I assume you heard rumors about me being alive. But why come to find me. We could have stayed as we were before we met: on opposite sides of the world, not knowing of the other’s existence.”

“I wouldn’t trade meeting you for anything. I don’t regret falling in love with you. But I regret how it ended more than anything in my life. Hearing the sound of your name brought me back to life, after…” Jon had been about to tell her about  _ that _ place, but shame stopped him. Whatever had touched him in the north, it had been dark and cold and dead, and the thought of speaking about it here, in the beauty of an Essosi spring and in front of Daenerys, made him feel… unclean.

Daenerys looked at him for many minutes, holding his gaze like she could see inside him. Guilt made him desperate to look away but he was trapped.

“So, is that all you came to tell me?” She asked, finally. Her tone said she knew something.

“I planned on confronting my brother. He’s been abusing his power, and I think his plots go far back, even before the battle at Winterfell. I hoped if I could find you, maybe you’d come west and hear the truth too.” He realized as he spoke, how unlikely this whole plan was. Find Dany, convince her you’re sorry, ask her to return to the place she died, ask her to believe your brother is a malicious, ancient entity…  He shook his head at his own absurdity.

“I am coming back to Westeros.” Dany said softly. “But not for you. Yara asked for my help. She said the people need me.”

_ She was already coming? If I had kept to my plan to go south, I likely would have found her again anyway.  _ As Jon continued to gaze at her, he began to see how inevitable she was. They would always have found each other.  _ I’ve missed you, _ Jon thought, but did not say. He smiled at her, but she simply went back to gazing into the distance.

She sighed, watching the plains fall into twilight as the sun set behind their backs. “Let us go back to the house. I’m tired now, and my breakfast was rudely interrupted. I don’t want to talk anymore, but you may accompany me… if you wish”

 

The walk back to Pentos was a silent but oddly companionable one. Dany looked deep in thought, her expression somber. Jon was content to simply be back in her presence. He had missed her far more than he realized, until he saw her again. She led the two of them back on a different route, over a couple of fields and onto a well-travelled lane, wide enough for two carts to pass each other and lit by the light of an almost-full moon. Several times, Jon thought of trying to start a conversation but did not want to push his luck - she could still have him killed very easily, once they were back at the house. Better to respect her wishes and hope she was feeling generous when Yara Greyjoy inevitably offered to remove his head.

When they reached the northeastern edge of the city, humble-looking homes started to cluster along the lane, lamps shone in their windows and delicious smells drifted out to remind them both of their hunger. Jon wondered if she had chosen to join a road because she feared being alone with him.

A few small children, playing in the street, gave shouts of delight upon seeing Daenerys approaching and ran into their homes to fetch their parents. She sighed and planted a smile on her face, straightening herself up to look strong and fierce once again. People began to wave at her from their doorways, and Dany graciously waved back. Some ran up to shake her hand and two or three even threw broken slave collars beneath her horse’s feet. 

Small wonder it had hurt so much, to be disregarded in Westeros, for here Dany was loved by everyone they passed.  _ All she has to do is open her mouth and tell them that I am the one who killed her… there would be nothing left of me for anyone to find. _

Dany’s smile grew and she pulled her horse to a stop as a man approached, a sandy-haired little girl of four or five years, in his arms. Dany leaned down low for the girl to place a circle of wildflowers on her head, like a crown. The little girl began running her fingers through Dany’s hair, giggling. Dany kissed the child’s fingertips and began talking to her in Valyrian. Jon could not understand what was being said, but he gathered from her hand gestures, that Dany was complementing the girl on the rows of braids around her head. Her father chimed in to the conversation and the three of them laughed together. In that moment of peace and happiness, Jon had a sudden, jealous urge to stab this unknown man in the face.

  
  


***

  
  


Yara paced the back veranda of the house, somewhere between worry and fury.  _ What was that fat oaf thinking?!  _ It had taken all the restraint she had not to scream obscenities at Illyrio in his own home. Daenerys trusted him, for whatever reason, and she had known him far longer than her, and Yara got the feeling she would not want him harmed. She wished the Dothraki had stayed, they would have been able to track her easily and would probably not have had the manners to respect Illyrio’s wish not to harm Snow until the queen returned.

_ If that Northern bastard has done anything, I will make him watch as I use his friend for target practice. _

The ginger one was friendly enough, in truth, but did not seem to understand why she wanted Jon Snow’s head on a spike. She told the wildling man every detail of what happened to Daenerys, as the story had been told to her. The man looked horrified, and showed a strange amount of concern for the queen, but still stood by his friend.

It was not long before dawn, and the sky was already lightening, when Yara heard the sound of hooves across the courtyard. She, the wildling and a couple of her men half ran to the front door. Daenerys looked barely conscious on her horse, and Snow kept one hand on her shoulder as if to stop her falling.

“The fuck did you do to her?” Yara demanded, taking the stairs two at a time.

Daenerys woke at her harsh tone “Nothing, Yara, just tired.” She smiled. “Sorry I worried you.”

She swung down from her horse and a servant ran up with a rope to lead her and Snow’s mounts away. She had been riding with no saddle and no shoes.  _ Not very queenly  _ Yara chuckled to herself, relief making her forget her foul mood.

“He can stay. Don’t kill him… yet.” That was all Daenerys had to say before floating into the house, asking for a platter of cheeses to be sent to her bed chambers.

  
  
  


***

  
  


It was almost noon when Dany woke. For a moment she thought she’d had a very strange dream, then she remembered Jon Snow and the day before, and could stay in bed no longer.

Things downstairs were tense. Everyone was eating breakfast on the back veranda. Illyrio was trying to be cheerful and diplomatic - as always, Jon looked guilty and pale, Tormund looked afraid of every food he did not recognize and Yara was cutting her sausages up a little more aggressively than was necessary.

On seeing her, they were all in a sudden competition for who could greet her the most cheerfully.

Tormund shouted “Dragon Queen!”

Yara smiled and asked “Are you feeling better?”

Illyrio told her she would worry him into an early grave, running off like that, before offering her a plate of fruits.

When they were quiet, Jon spoke up, sounding sheepish. “Good morning, Dany.”

She noticed he had touched no food and his hands were clasped in his lap, as if he were afraid of being scolded if he moved. Dany was not sure whether to feel satisfaction that he was so uncomfortable and out of his depth, or pity for him, since he was clearly sorry. All she could feel was amusement. She wanted to laugh at him. This brave warrior had fought dead men, led troops into battle, rode a dragon… and was completely terrified of Yara Greyjoy’s wrath.

“Good morning, Jon Snow. I trust you slept well.” She gave him no time to answer, busying herself with fresh bread and hot tea and making small talk with Tormund on what he thought of Essos.

“I like it better than the journey here. Boats are not for me. Maybe you could take me back on that dragon again?” Tormund laughed.

“Again?” Yara asked, tilting her head.

“Aye” Tormund suddenly dove into the story, putting all the drama he could into the telling. “We were north of the wall, surrounded by dead men. Only a lake between them and us and the lake was starting to freeze. We were all fucked.” He paused for effect. The Ironborn and Illyrio leaned in closer. “Then fire starts raining from the sky, burning the dead away, before they can get to us. Daenerys and that black beast of hers land next to us, spitting fire at the wights. We all climbed on. Four of us, five if you count the queen. And she flew us out of there, away from death.”

Yara looked curiously at Dany.

“That was when Viserion died.” Dany answered quietly.

Yara turned to Jon, her expression murderous. “She saved you. She lost her child saving your worthless life!”

“Enough.” Dany called. “I made the choice. Jorah was up there with them and I could not leave him to his fate. My oldest friend…” She sniffed with sadness. Jorah had been almost constant in her life since before her children were born, and here, back where she started with Illyrio, she missed him more than ever.

“She’s right though.” Jon mumbled, staring at his hands. “You did save my life. And again during the battle.” 

Dany rolled her eyes at him. His sullen self-pity was not remotely endearing.

 

Tormund stood looking skeptically at something in the gardens. Dany made her way over to him.

“You eat those things?” He grunted at her.

She saw what he was looking at and giggled. “Yes, they’re quite delicious. They’re called strawberries.” She plucked one from its stalk and offered it to him.

He gave it a suspicious look. “It’s pink. Food didn’t ought to be pink.”

She laughed again and ate the sweet fruit to prove it was alright, then offered him another. He took it and popped it in his mouth as she had done. His eyes immediately widened and he made appreciative noises at her.  _ Tormund is not so different than my Dothraki, he lives for simple pleasures in life. _ She smiled fondly at him.

“How do you find Essos? Honestly?” Dany asked.

“I dreaded coming here the whole journey, but now I’m here I think I could come to like the heat and all the color… and the food.” He said, picking another strawberry. “I miss my people though.”

“Yes,” Dany replied, sadly “I miss mine too.”

They each stood in thought for a moment before Tormund spoke again.

“He’s lost without you, you know.” He started slowly. “He was eaten up by guilt.”

“How terribly tragic for him.” Dany hadn’t meant to sound rude but she wasn’t ready for anyone to be asking her to forgive.

“I don’t know what came over him in that moment, but Jon is a still a good man. I believe that. I would not have followed him here if I didn’t.”

“I’m sure he probably is… but I don’t think he’s good for me.”

“While we’re here, maybe you could… I don’t know… give him a chance to prove to you that -“

Dany cut him off “I can’t risk the life I built from the pieces that were left, for the man who ended my last life.”

“That’s fair enough.” Tormund admitted, nodding his head. “I want my friend to be happy, but you saved my life and I’ll not soon forget it. I want you to be happy too.” He sighed and started to walk back to the house.

“Tormund,” Dany called after him. He turned back. “If Jon truly wants to show remorse, tell him to stop his brooding. It doesn’t help his cause.”

Tormund laughed and went back inside.

  
  


“Alright!” Dany called as she strode onto Illyrio’s veranda. Her shout brought the occupants of the house running. Except Illyrio, who strolled in, drinking a glass of wine. Yara and her Ironborn had been sparring in the courtyard and Dany had already summoned them on her way inside. Tormund had been stood on a balcony overlooking the sea and Jon was still keeping himself inconspicuous in whatever room no one else was in  - although, Tormund must have actually spoken to him because he had indeed stopped brooding.

They all gathered around Daenerys like eager children.

“I have just returned from the port. There is a Westerosi ship returning home in nine days and Jon, you and Tormund will be on it.” She told them. Tormund’s lip curled up in disgust at the thought of the return journey. Dany ignored him and went on. “He was not going to call at Maidenpool at first, but I have made it worth his while and paid for your passage. The good magister has said you may both stay here until then.” Dany smiled her thanks at Illyrio for his hospitality.

“As for the rest of you, I don’t know how much Yara has told you of our plan, but it is very specific.” The Ironborn leaned in close. “The day after tomorrow, you will depart south, along the coast, to collect your ship from the port where you left it. From there, you will sail across the Stepstones and land on the Dornish coast at Sunspear. Yara is going to convince the Dornish prince to join her in confronting the king and his council and asking for a meeting. If he agrees, Yara will send riders to the high lords of the other kingdoms, saying that they intend to confront the king about his unfair policies. If all goes well, the Dornish prince and a small host will cross the Sea of Dorne and the Stormlands to Storm’s End, to unite with Gendry Baratheon.”

Daenerys paused for a moment, to ensure everyone was following. Jon was looking at her as if he had a thousand questions, but her plan did not need to involve him so she continued.

“Tonight is the full moon. Yara will send a message to all the lords and ladies of Westeros that she wishes for a meeting with the king, on the fifth full moon after this, at sunset, at the dragon pit. She will used paid raiders and not ravens to deliver these messages.”

One of Yara’s men spoke up. “You think the king will honor a demand to meet?”

“That’s why we’re waiting until we have the support of the Dornish, before sending the riders out. So I am not one lone voice.” Yara answered him.

Another of her men spoke up, a younger man. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but are you not accompanying us with your dragon?”

“I will be there at the meeting, but not before. The longer I am in Westeros the faster things will escalate. We want to keep things peaceful for as long as possible. This meeting does not need to feel like a threat of war or a call to mobilize soldiers, but the presence of Drogon and I will come across as a threat.”  _ And the longer Drogon is that side of the sea, the more danger he will be in,  _ Dany added silently. “I have my reasons for wanting this meeting at such a specific time.”

That explanation seemed to be enough for them. They trusted Yara, and knew Yara trusted her. They were loyal men.

 

True to the plan, the Ironborn left Pentos with the sunrise on the second day, riding hard down the west coast. They seemed eager to get back to their ship now that they had a purpose, and were missing being at sea. Yara had given Jon one last glare and shared a somewhat friendly farewell with Tormund, before clasping Dany’s forearm and declaring they would see each other again in a few moons. Dany had come to love Yara dearly and sent a small prayer to whichever god was listening, to guide her and keep her safe.

 

That left Dany alone with Jon and Tormund for another week. She kept Tormund close by, so as not to be left alone with Jon. Illyrio and Tormund seemed to think this was because Dany was afraid Jon might hurt her, but in truth Dany was afraid if they were alone together, they might say things that did not ought to be said if they were to keep a distance between them. And Dany wanted that. She still loved Jon... and loving him hurt.

She showed the two of them around Pentos, bought them some food and drink to take back to the free folk, bought them some cooler clothes for the remainder of their time in the east and even walked with the two of them along a beach at the south side of the city. Dany kept the conversation pleasant, acting as a gracious host to her guests, but avoiding any painful topics of conversation, such as Jon’s family or her time in Westeros. Jon followed Dany’s lead, pretending they were good acquaintances or perhaps trade partners, but not approaching any delicate subjects. It was much better than his quiet self-pity and sometimes, when Jon acted as though nothing had happened between them, Dany found herself almost believing it. It would be all too easy to fall in love with him again. Indeed, she had never truly fallen  _ out _ of love with him. The only times Dany was really reminded of what Jon did to her, was when Drogon returned to the house, causing Jon to hide from him as he had hidden from Yara.

When the time came for them to board their ship home, Tormund had become very familiar with Dany, scooping her up in a tight hug, planting a wet kiss on her forehead and telling her he hoped to see her again soon.

Jon was more subdued, as if he had dreaded a day that was finally here. She could see that he was desperate to leave things on good terms with her, but she did not want to give him false hope. She also knew he wanted to be part of the meeting with his brother, and although she could not stop him from turning up at the dragon pit, she also did not encourage it, or act like they would be seeing each other again.

Keeping to the formality that had been protecting her heart all week, Dany said “I wish you fair winds and good fortune, Jon Snow.”

Jon looked at her deeply for a long time, as if trying to memorize her face. Finally, he smirked at her and nodded. “Auntie,” he teased her, before turning without another word, and walking up the gangplank.

Dany’s mouth dropped open in shock.


	5. Dragons, Krakens and Broken Things

As the day Dany would fly west got nearer, time seemed to pass slower. She was not sure if she was dreading it or desperate to get it over with. More likely, it was simply the waiting and not knowing. So much of this plan depended on the lords of Westeros not being completely worthless. She had faith in Yara and believed Gendry would not accept the unfair taxation of the poor, but the rest gave her little and less hope. No word reached her that things had gone wrong, so she must trust that the planned meeting would go ahead. That only left Daenerys with months to worry about all the ways a trap could be laid for her.

She spent most of her time flying on Drogon, practicing fast maneuvers and seeing how high she could go with him, just in case the worst should happen. One day, she went to Illyrio and asked him, “Do you know of any smith who would be brave enough to fit a bad-tempered dragon for some armor?”

Illyrio had laughed and asked, “For you or the black one?” He then tried to convince her to get a suit of armor for herself, but Dany was not interested in turning up to this meeting looking like she was expecting a fight.

Illyrio had asked around Pentos but the only blacksmith who had accepted the challenge was a peculiar man from Asshai, with a lizard-like appearance and pointed teeth, who followed the Lord of Light. Still, Drogon was accepting enough of him getting close and only snapped at him once. The man eventually suggested that ringmail would be more suitable for speed and agility, took some measurements and returned in six weeks with a very large cart full of things and half a dozen nervous men to fit it. As well as the armor, the smith also brought a saddle and reins, all made of a fine, black metal, much lighter than they looked. Dany and Drogon eyed the saddle and stirrups with twin looks of suspicion, but on testing them out, they were able to fly better than ever, and Dany found herself wondering why she had never tried it sooner.

 

When the day came for her to leave, she chose her clothes with care. She donned a pair of black leather riding pants and a top that sat off her shoulders, in a scarlet that reminded her of the Red Temple, and embroidered to look like dragonscale. The top sat low enough that her scar was visible, so as to leave no doubt that she had truly returned from the dead. Over it, she wore the fur lined cloak that Kinvara had gifted her on her last visit - although she did not feel the cold now - as well as Kinvara’s other gift. It had turned out to be a crown, wrought of red and orange glass to resemble twisting flames and from its front, a long, sharp piece of dragonglass jutted up, reminiscent of the spiked helms of her Unsullied. She wore her hair unbraided and loose.

 

 

Dany timed her arrival to Westeros for the dark of night, the night before the meeting. She flew so high above King’s Landing that she struggled to find her breath, so high that the wispy clouds were far below her and the wind was icy on her hot cheeks. So high that, even if they were seen, no scorpion bolt could find its way up to them. Drogon landed quietly in the woods on the edge of the city, and she quickly bid him to fly somewhere out of sight.

_ Okay, Lord of Light, if you can truly keep me hidden from the sight of my enemies, now is the time to prove it. _ Dany crept quietly up the dusty path that led to the ruins of the old dragon pit, a symbol of the fall of her house.

Not far from the entrance, Dany spied two, bored-looking men in golden cloaks, playing some kind of dice game. Guarding the pit for tomorrow’s meeting, to make sure no one sets a trap. Dany took that as a good sign that Yara’s part of the plan had worked and things were in place. She crept around the back of the pit and found she could easily climb the rubble onto the thick walls. She found a place behind a large boulder that was perfect for hiding and gave her a good view of the platform below. 

_ And now, more waiting… _

She had arranged for the meeting to be at the end of the day so she could arrive at night and still be sure she was the first there, and it seemed it had worked. There was no sound but the breeze through the brush as she rested her head against the boulder and watched the moon move across the sky.

 

Well, the Lord of Light, or some other god, seemed to have a hand in the weather the next day. Though the morning started with a fresh stillness that hinted at the coming spring, as noon came, a powerful wind picked up. It would be no match for a large dragon, but birds such as ravens would not find flying easy. Dany smiled and sent up a ‘thank you’ to whoever was listening.

The lords of the Vale and the Riverlands arrived first, over two hours before sunset, and gold cloaks showed them to the circle of chairs on the wooden platform below. They also lit many torches all around the pit, as the meeting would likely last well past dusk. As she watched the flames, Dany noted that the walls of the pit offered good protection from the howling wind.

Yara and her Ironborn arrived next - to Dany’s great relief - with Gendry Baratheon, the Prince of Dorne and almost thirty Dornishmen, who gathered behind them, across from the Tulley and Arryn lords. Yara looked to be struggling to keep her eyes from wandering around the pit.  _ I’m here my friend. I kept to my end of the plan, just as you did.  _ What Yara had pulled off in the past few months was no mean feat.

Bran Stark arrived next, looking considerably inconvenienced, with a crowd of gold cloaks. He was accompanied by Samwell Tarly, wearing a chain he had not earned and Tyrion Lannister, looking as though nothing could possibly take his brilliant mind by surprise. The man who came next, must be the one Yara had said was the Master of Coin, with the swagger of a sellsword. Dany vaguely recognized him as the man who had fired the bolt at Drogon, the day she fought the Lannister army. They seated themselves on the highest chairs, at the far end of the pit from the entrance. The last member of the council to approach was Ser Davos. Dany noted that he stood further from the rest, closer to the Ironborn, and gave Bran fearful looks.  _ Clever man, that one. He must’ve been one of the first to notice that the king’s justice was less than just. _

Watching from her hiding place on the high walls, Dany saw Yara stand to begin the meeting, when the sound of marching signalled the arrival of more people. Bran’s council smiled widely at the arrival of Sansa Stark and a dozen Stark soldiers, though the king’s face remained empty.

Sansa walked proudly, her nose in the air, to place herself between the king and the lords of the Vale and the Riverlands. Dany noted with amusement that she wore her hair intricately braided with a crown on top of her red head. _ So much for wanting The North to be independent and uninvolved with the rest of the kingdoms. I suppose it makes sense that her brother would tell her about this meeting… though her leaving Winterfell with no leader is an arrogant, foolish move.  _ Sansa got herself settled, taking her sweet time to smooth her skirts in as queenly a way as possible and her men placed a large chest of pale wood next to her chair. Dany wondered at the contents. Perhaps gifts for the loyal lords? Bribes or blackmail? Perhaps a weapon?

_ Almost time for my entrance,  _ Dany’s stomach fluttered nervously. She would feel much safer arriving on Drogon, but that’s what everyone would expect her to do. In fact, she noticed Tyrion check the skies several times.  _ I won’t be catching them completely unawares then,  _ Dany mused,  _ they have heard that I live and my return has occurred to them. _

As Yara began, she projected her voice, knowing it needed to carry over the wind to Dany’s listening ears. “Your Grace. My Lords… Your Grace.” She addressed the king and his council before finally turning to Sansa, with a shadow of Dany’s own amusement in her voice as she greeted the Queen in the North. “Since you are our elected monarch, we must be able to raise our voices when we feel our people are suffering. I am unhappy with the way my people are taxed and unfairly punished for crimes they have not committed. We -”

“Yet.” Came the smug voice of Tyrion lannister, much quieter and hard for Dany to make out. She dropped her head lower for more shelter.

“My Lord?” Yara sounded annoyed. Her opening statement had been the most formal Dany had ever heard her speak. Clearly she had memorized her speech and Tyrion’s interruption had thrown her.

“Crimes they haven't committed… yet.” He corrected her again. “Our wise king is able to see the plots of thieves and murderers, as they make them. Surely you don’t think we should let these crimes happen anyway? Surely it is better to prevent them?”

Yara quickly recovered. “If people plan to rob the wealthy, it’s because they’re taxed too hard and starved by winter. Many won’t see summer at this rate.”

_ That’s my cue.  _ Dany and Yara had decided on two words. She would speak the word ‘raven’ as soon as possible if something had happened that meant it was unsafe for Dany to reveal herself. If Dany heard the word ‘summer’, that meant everything was in place, and Yara knew of no plots from the king or the other lords.

Dany kept low as she crept from her hiding place. Her behind felt numb from sitting on the jagged rocks for so long and the wind had blown her hair into a dust-covered mess. She leaped nimbly down the broken back wall of the pit and around the circular structure. The men guarding the entrance were standing a little way down the path, so she would be able to slip in behind them. She quickly straightened herself out, arranging her hair over her shoulders and generally fiddling with her appearance. She realized she was putting her entrance off because she was nervous, and that was not fair on Yara, whose muffled voice still reached her from inside.

Letting her cloak flow behind her, Dany strode into the pit. To her great satisfaction, everyone she had wanted to take by surprise, gasped and turned in their chairs to watch her entrance. Tyrion, especially, looked dumbfounded. The lords of the Vale and Riverlands, whose allegiance they had been most unsure of, now looked completely trapped. Sansa looked as if she suddenly smelled something bad. Gendry and the Prince of Dorne looked relieved and suddenly more comfortable. And Yara? Well, she smiled with relief, not bothering to hide her joy that all had gone well.

“My noble lords and ladies.” Dany called graciously to the occupants of the pit, earning her a glare of contempt from the Queen in the North. Dany stopped at the last remaining, empty side of the square platform, the one closest to the entrance. “I apologize for my lateness, I had to cross the world. But I’m here now.”

All eyes went down to her scar.  _ Let them look,  _ Dany told herself, straightening her shoulders, though all she really wanted to do was wrap Kinvara’s cloak around herself to hide the evidence of what had been done to her. 

“Your Grace.” Tyrion recovered from his shock the quickest and was now feigning respect and relief. “How glad we all are that the rumors of your resurrection were true.”

“I have -” Dany began, but the speech she had prepared was cut off by the sound of many galloping hooves behind her. She turned towards the pit entrance.

From down the path came a chaotic mass of fur and horses, causing the guards to dive for cover. Into the clearing charged Jon, Tormund and around fifteen of the free folk. Dany wanted to throttle him for ruining the moment she had worked herself up over for months. They all came to a stop, effectively blocking the entrance.

Dany could feel the smugness of some of those behind her. They did not know Jon had crossed the sea. They believed this would be her first time confronting her killer. Dany was about to start playing into this belief of theirs, when Jon ruined  _ that _ plan too. As he climbed from his horse, the back of his fur-trimmed cloak became visible, and even Dany gasped a little. Jon had had the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen embroidered onto his cloak. Vivid red and very large.  _ Well, that’s quite a statement.  _ Dany was unsure how she felt about it. She was not  _ not  _ pleased. It somehow made her feel less alone.

Jon strode up the wooden platform, planted himself at the side of her and clasped her hand tightly, lacing their fingers together. Dany could not believe his audacity. She had given him no hint that he was in any way forgiven. She was trying to decide whether to snatch her hand away or squeeze her fingers together so tightly that she hurt him, when she noticed the calculating and less-than-pleased looks of Tyrion and Sansa, so she let it slide. Better to let them draw their own conclusions.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jon whispered to her, as if she had been expecting him, “There were a load of gold cloaks on the way into the city. We had to stop and take care of them.”

Dany could guess what that meant. Jon had drawn the first blood of the day. She hoped it would be the last.

“Jon Snow,” Tyrion recovered from this new surprise, but continued to stare at their entwined hands as he spoke, “you were exiled for the murder of Queen Daenerys. And then we received a raven from Queen Sansa that you were returning illegally to our kingdoms. Our lords,” Tyrion gestured to the Tulleys and Arryns, “have been searching for you for a while.”

“The free folk won’t be found unless we want to be.” Jon spoke defiantly.

“Indeed. Well, as an exile with no title and no loyalties, I must wonder what could have brought you to this meeting today.” Tyrion’s civility was so false, Dany found herself wondering if it had always been so and she had just never noticed.

“Same as Daenerys. Answers.” Jon’s voice was cold and dangerous, whatever anger he held was barely contained.

“And what answers might you and the former queen demand of  _ us? _ ” Tyrion spoke the last word as if he were far above this entire meeting.

Jon and Dany both stood in silence, each waiting for the other to speak.  _ Well,  _ Dany thought at him,  _ you ruined the speech I had prepared and turned this meeting into a confrontation. Speak your peace, Jon. I’m only here to back up Yara and the other lords. _

Jon was just about to speak again when Gendry Baratheon interrupted, bringing the meeting back to its intended course. “Myself, and the many lords I have spoken with on my journey, are unhappy with the council’s methods of repaying our debts and controlling the small folk. If rebellion starts, it’ll be the lesser lords who feel it first. The small folk won’t cower in fear of your spying birds and gold cloaks forever.”

“The gold cloaks have expanded beyond King’s Landing to keep the peace during these hard winter months. I’m afraid my sister left the crown in considerable debt, and unless we start repaying it, the Iron Bank will see to it that no food or trade from Essos reaches us at all.” Tyrion sounded oh-so-reasonable and convincing.

Dany finally found her voice. “Few in Essos would trade with you anyway. The followers of the Lord of Light grow by the day, and the High Priestess has declared your council the enemy of light.”  _ Great, now I sound like a zealot,  _ Dany thought. “If you step aside, trade with the east can resume and the wealth of the kingdoms can grow again.”

“Step aside? And who would rule? The small folk will not accept a foreign invader from across the sea, who destroyed their city with dragonfire.” Tyrion’s words cut Dany deep, though she tried not to show it. He was right about the Westerosi not wanting her and about what she did. But he couldn’t have realized that she had no intention of ruling. 

Jon gave her hand a squeeze and spoke up “But she didn’t, did she?”

At the puzzled looks from everyone in the pit, Jon continued. “Daenerys did not destroy King’s Landing, and I did not kill  _ her.” _

_ Not this again, _ Dany thought, getting frustrated.  _ Is this what he came here for? _

“Bran,” Jon continued, suddenly ignoring Tyrion. “Or whatever you are now. When I was in the north, I had a vision. I saw you planning all of this. I saw Tyrion helping you. You can warg into animals. You can control people too.”

Dany exchanged a look and a small shrug with Yara. She didn’t know what in seven hells he was hoping to achieve with this nonsense.

“I saw you warg into Hodor.” Jon went on, his voice rising in power. “You can control people. Us. It all worked out so neatly for you, didn’t it? Get rid of the last two Targaryens and arrange for the greatest manipulator in the kingdoms to put your name forward once there was no one else left. The last Three Eyed Raven hid under a tree to guard the memories of the world. But you ended up becoming king in just a few short years.”

Dany could only sigh. For all her experience with myths and magic, even she struggled to believe this convenient conspiracy. The highborn gathered in the dragon pit were starting to look at each other and chuckle, even Dany’s own allies were frowning in confusion.

Tyrion was encouraging this laughter, sharing amused looks with all he could. When the laughter died down, he spoke. “You are both in the Six Kingdoms illegally. Neither of you have sworn an oath of fealty to the current king, and both of you have a history of rebellion. We can discuss policy changes with the legitimate lords, but first you will both be arrested.”

At his instruction, a dozen gold cloaks stepped out from behind the council, making their way across the platform to them. Dany was furious with Jon for hijacking this meeting for such an appalling bluff. Had he really thought that would work? What had he expected to happen? And now it was going to come to a fight as the free folk, Ironborn and possibly even the Dornish would stand in their defence against the gold cloaks and the Stark men.

As the men closed in on the two of them, Jon began to step in front of her, still holding her hand, when a roar shook the skies above them.

_ Well, my son has much better timing than my nephew.  _ The gold cloaks immediately stopped and backed off a few paces as Drogon flew straight over the pit, blocking out the sun for a moment, before turning a quick circle and landing behind them, his massive legs straddling the entrance. He roared again in warning. All the men backed away, even the Dornish. All except the free folk, standing right beneath him, and the Ironborn, who were not remotely bothered by his presence.

Dany smiled at the sight of him in his armor, he looked formidable and ancient. A relic of the old dragonlords of Valyria. Clearly the others thought so too, as the ones that had laughed were laughing no more. Yara exchanged a smile with Dany, conveying that she liked his new look.

“What will you do? Burn us all and what is left of our capital city?” Tyrion spoke as if he were afraid but standing in brave defiance of a monster, but Dany knew it was all an act to gain sympathy.

“If she wanted to burn you all, she wouldn’t be standing down here, she’d be up there.” Jon growled, gesturing up to Drogon with his free hand.

_ Not helpful,  _ Dany thought at him, but Jon did not seem to think he’d made things bad enough and continued.

“My brother died, somewhere in the north. Whatever you are, you are more dangerous than the dragon behind us. Admit what happened was by your design. You controlled us. I killed the woman I love because of you.” Grumbles of annoyance now rippled through the lords on all sides. Dany was beginning to feel the same.

“Not  _ controlled.”  _ Came the breathy voice of Bran Stark, cutting through the tense air and silencing everyone in the pit. All eyes turned to the Stark boy as he went on. “Controlled would be too obvious. You were both already angry… I simply redirected that anger… it was more like a trance.”

 

Dany felt as if her world was falling for a moment, as the implications of his words sank in. Had Jon been right? If this was true, then everything she had believed about herself and about Jon since her resurrection were false, and she rebelled against that idea.  _ No! If  my mind was manipulated in such a way, then I must have a very weak mind. I killed those people.  _ If she were to accept that a magical force had influenced Jon to kill her, then she would have to forgive him… but she would also have to forgive herself and Daenerys was not sure she had it in her to do that.

And if this were true then why admit it? All those present in the pit were now were now staring at Bran in horror, and in some cases, a growing fear. Only Sansa had quickly hidden her shock. He had just admitted to being able to influence the minds and loyalties of people, in front of the lords of his kingdoms. Why? If he were as old and powerful as Jon said, he could not possibly be so foolish.

But as she looked around at the horrorstruck faces, she saw it. If he could show what he was capable of, then who would challenge him? They could never try this again. To call another meeting, to try and elect a new king. If they knew the true extent of what he could do, all thought of rebellion would be put down. As the cripple boy stared at her and Jon with growing malice, Dany realized the two of them were to be his examples.

Tyrion was the first to speak into the fearful silence, still clinging to his image of the reasonable politician. “It would’ve happened eventually. Daenerys is too reckless, it was only a matter of time before she took her dragon and destroyed our way of life.”

Sansa was nodding slowly in agreement at his words, but Davos strode away from the rest of his council entirely, placing himself between the Dornish and Dany, on the opposite side of the pit, his face full of pity and apology as he looked at her and Jon.

Jon looked down at Dany, his eyes shining.

“It doesn’t matter.” Dany whispered, her voice strained as she fought tears. “They’ll never know.” She shook her head rapidly, her curls bouncing. Could Jon not see that? Even if all this were true, the common people would never know, would never believe. They would never love her, never shout her name.

As that realization finally hit Jon and he saw a tear fall down Dany’s cheek, his expression slowly turned to rage. It was not the cold, simmering anger of a wolf, but a burning heat that mirrored her own. A dragon waking up... 

“Everything that has happened has brought us here. All gathered together, in what was once a prison for dragons.” Bran’s quiet, empty voice cut the silence once again.

Then several things happened so fast, time seemed to slow for Dany to see it all.

Bran’s face went blank - more so than usual, his head tilted back and his eyes began to fade to a sickly white glow.

Jon leaped in front of Dany, pulling his hand from hers. He pointed his finger at his brother and bellowed “ _ DRACARYS!”  _

Drogon spat a jet of orange flame over Jon and Dany’s heads, engulfing Bran, Tyrion, Bronn, Samwell and a dozen gold cloaks.

  
  


The other occupants of the pit all jumped away from the heat and the burning bodies, as the croaks of many ravens echoed from all around the city.

Dany stood in shock, watching the charred bodies smolder. Drogon would ordinarily have waited for  _ her _ command before burning, but he  _ was _ ‘the smartest creature to ever live’ in Kinvara’s words and it seemed he understood enough of what was going on, to know who his enemies were.

She found herself looking at Jon’s back for a moment, at the sigil sewn across it. “He was your brother.” was all Dany could think to say.

“No,” Jon answered, “my brother died years ago, in the north. Whatever that Three Eyed Raven was, it was no longer Bran Stark.” He sounded breathless. Dany reached out her hand and took his again, stepping up beside him.

“What did he mean to do?” Dany asked, her voice trembling.

“I don’t know. Influence our minds again, or the minds of the other lords. Maybe call his ravens to him. I think, most likely, he was… going to warg into Drogon.”

Dany felt sick at the thought of her son being trapped and controlled by that thing. She and Jon stood watching the flames, trying to think through what had just happened.

  
  


“ _ BASTARD!” _ The shrill scream broke through their daze, and Dany’s head snapped up to see Sansa Stark with a crazed look in her eyes.

Sansa pulled a torch off a bracket on one of the awnings. As Dany recognized the hideous green liquid Sansa was holding in her other hand, it was  _ her _ turn to think quickly. Dany charged at Jon from the side, shoving him away with all the strength in her small body, and he landed on his arse near Ser Davos. Sansa threw the bottle, covering Dany’s feet and legs in glass shards and the sticky green liquid inside. She then threw the torch in the same spot, as all the lords of Westeros looked on, frozen in shock.

The green flames of the wildfire ripped up Dany’s body, burning her beautiful cloak away, burning her clothes and even her boots. But of course, Daenerys was unhurt. She stood in the flames, sweat running down her breasts, over her scar. All that remained was her crown of glass fire, which sat proudly on her head as the lords’ horror turned to amazement and awe.


	6. The Peace That Follows...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you bring a lasting peace to a country that has been at war for so long?

Jon had completely forgotten about Sansa. He had noticed her in the pit and was confused as to why she had made the long journey south when she had wanted The North to be seperate, but quickly dismissed her as he caught sight of Dany and the ‘king’. He had not given her a second thought for the rest of the meeting.

 

“ _ BASTARD! _ ” That word would once have stung Jon, but now it had no effect other than to pull his attention from the mass of charred bodies that had once been his brother, friend and many other nameless men.

Jon had barely had time to note the rage in his sister’s face when a force hit him hard from the side and sent him flying several feet onto the hard floor. He pushed his cumbersome cloak away from his face just in time to see Daenerys engulfed in green fire.

 

The heat seared Jon’s face, but he didn’t care.  _ DANY!  _ He panicked. She could not be seen through the bright flames. He pictured her burning, her silver hair crackling away, her soft skin blackening and melting in the wildfire. He imagined her screaming though he could not hear it. Pain ripped through him, worse than a knife in his heart. He had found her again, against the odds, and proved to her that the two of them were not monsters, only to lose her before they could figure out what that meant.

His pain must have become audible with a cry, as Ser Davos crouched beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Look.” Ser Davos murmured quietly, but Jon did not want to see. “Look, Jon!” He urged again.

Jon looked closer into the flames as they began to die down and turn from green to orange and yellow.

She stood in the inferno. Unhurt. The joy Jon felt at the sight of her took his breath away. Her long waves lifted in the flames. Her crown matched the fire that surrounded her. She was naked and glistening.

Dany had, of course, told Jon that she had sat in a fire when her children were born, but to see her this way was something else entirely. To see her true power.

_ If she had showed The North this power, they almost certainly would’ve knelt, and gladly.  _ Jon slowly climbed to his feet as Daenerys turned to look at him, smiling.

 

He glanced around at the other lords to see their amazement. They were all staring at Dany, open-mouthed… at her  _ naked body! _

She did not seem at all concerned with this, but Jon was a prudish Westerosi so quickly unfastened his cloak and walked towards the shrinking fire until the heat stopped him again. Dany stepped towards him, looking amused now. He wrapped his fur cloak around her, but when his hand brushed the impossibly hot skin of her shoulder, he had to pull it away quickly, shaking away the burn in his fingertips.

 

“I thought I’d lost you again.” Jon’s voice cracked as he put words to the fear and pain that had crippled him just moments ago.

“Fire cannot kill a dragon,” Dany murmured, a serene smile on her face. It seemed to Jon that she was glowing.

A movement over Dany’s shoulder pulled Jon’s attention to the other side of the pit. Sansa was backing away, looking from Dany to Drogon and back again, her face flickering between hatred and fear.

A fury took hold of Jon that he had never felt before. Not against his traitor Night’s Watch brothers, not against Ramsey, not even against Tyrion and Bran. This rage was different. Sansa had intended Dany to burn, to die screaming. For both of them to die, just as they had discovered their innocence.

He wanted to kill her, to tear her apart with his hands. Even burning her, as she had tried to do, would be too quick. He wanted to hear her suffer, he wanted her to regret what she had done to them, by telling Jon’s secret and by trying to ruin their lives.

Jon began to pull his sword loose and step around Dany.

“No!” Dany shouted, blocking his path. She clasped the wrist of his sword hand and tried to push Longclaw back into its scabbard. He could feel the heat of her skin through his leather coat.

“No?” Jon growled. He hadn’t meant for his voice to show anger at Dany but he could not control the trembling fury inside him.

“I am not hurt. You are not hurt. But if you kill her now, many more will be.” Dany’s voice took on the sternness he had heard before, when she was queen.

“She tried to kill us. She fully intended for us both to burn. That’s as bad as if she’d killed us.” Jon could not understand why Dany did not seem to share his rage. Where was her dragon’s temper now?

“I know. And if you had been hurt I doubt I would be saying this, but we were not hurt. And if you kill her, nothing will change. The wheel will keep on turning. Where does it stop?” Her voice had taken on a desperate edge. This meant a lot to her. Jon let Longclaw slide back in its holder and searched Dany’s soft blue eyes for whatever calmness she felt.

“She’s right.” A voice behind Jon reminded him that there were others in the pit. It was Gendry. He looked as angry as Jon felt and he glared at Sansa coldly.

“What?” Yara joined in, “On this, I agree with Snow. She tried to kill our queen. That’s treason, last I checked.”

“Yes,” Gendry said, looking at Daenerys, as if following her thoughts, “but Queen Daenerys is right. A Stark ruler coming south and being killed? We’ve been here before. If we execute Sansa, the North will start a war for vengeance. Many more will die, and for what?”

That stopped everyone in the pit, including Jon. His grandfather’s death, his father’s death, his brother’s death, his true father’s death... it had all started in a moment of anger like this.

“You see?” Dany spoke quietly, “Someone, at some time, has to make a different choice. Or this will never end.”

“So, what? She goes unpunished? She could’ve  _ killed you!” _ Jon could not stand the idea that Sansa would, once again, face no consequence for her betrayal.

“Let her go home.” Dany raised her voice for the whole pit to hear. “The Northerners chose her as their queen. To execute her would only start another war, so let her success or failure as a ruler be decided by her own people.” She declared.

Everyone in the pit looked resigned to their queen’s command, though they all shot Sansa hate-filled looks - even the Tulley and Arryn lords, who seemed to have quite forgotten that Sansa was their kin in their awe at Dany’s power.

 

“So, what now?” Yara asked eventually, sounding unhappy.

Dany turned from Jon to address the occupants of the dragon pit. “We will meet again tomorrow, at high noon.” She decided. “Not in the city, not during the day time. I… don’t want to frighten people… with Drogon. We will meet in the Kingswood, on the other side of the river.”

All nodded. Jon wanted to ask if he was invited, seeing as he was not a lord.

“My Lord?” Dany asked the Dornish prince, “How many men did you bring?”

“Three thousand, at Lady Yara’s request.” He answered. “They are camped outside of the city.”

“We may need them to disband the Gold Cloaks. In the meantime,” Dany looked at Sansa for the first time since her attack, “escort Queen Sansa and her men to your encampment. She will be your honored guest until we conclude our business. Then she can be escorted back to her own kingdom.”

All nodded and began to move. Dany turned suddenly to smile at Tormund. “And where have your people made camp?” She sounded far more friendly and informal now.

“In them woods, south of the river. Been there nearly a week. Snow didn’t want us to be late.” Tormund answered like they were old friends.

“Then I’ll camp with you. If your people won’t mind sharing a camp with Drogon?” She glanced up at her son and smiled. He had been calm through Sansa’s attempted murder, as if he never considered fire a threat to his mother.

“No, they’ve all seen him - and you - fight for them.” Tormund answered, also looking at the huge black mass above him.

“Then that settles it.” She turned back to Jon with a teasing look in her eyes. “I’ll ride to your camp behind you, on your horse,” her eyes sparkled as she opened Jon’s cloak just enough, “I can’t ride a dragon like this.”

Tormund hid his laughter with an unconvincing cough as Jon blushed.

  
  
  


***

  
  


_ I suppose I should be thankful to Sansa, _ Dany thought. Her little fire trick being witnessed by the high lords, had made them loyal to her in a way that Westerosi lords had never been loyal before. They all treated her differently, with reverence and awe… except Yara, who simply made flirtatious comments about how good she had looked naked.

Now, quite by accident, Dany found herself in a position to make the changes to Westeros that she had always planned - and all she wanted was to go home. The sea called her east and Drogon kept nudging her to leave, but first she must help heal the Six Kingdoms.

Dany made the short walk from the campsite of the free folk, to where the high lords of Westeros awaited her. Jon followed behind, looking around for danger, one hand on Longclaw as if he’d decided he would be her knight.

 

They met at noon, under the budding trees.

Without any preamble, Dany declared that Gendry Baratheon should be king and Ser Davos his Hand.

Every person in the circle spoke at once, respectful but very confused.

Yara insisted Dany should stay, and tried to convince her that the common people would come around once they heard the truth.

The Dornish prince insisted that Dorne would not want to follow the son of the Usurper.

The Tulley and Arryn lords gently reminded Dany that Gendry had not yet taken oaths of fealty from many of his banner men, so the Stormlords could not be counted on.

Sweet Ser Davos questioned his worthiness to be Hand, since he had been on Bran and Tyrion’s council.

And Gendry asked why she chose him, when his father had ruined her family.

Dany raised her hand and used the lords’ new-found reverence for her to silence their protests.

“The common people will never love me. They will never believe in me or that the Three Eyed Raven was the true force behind their city’s destruction. None of you - or even I - believed, until we heard from Bran himself, and the people never will. But that’s alright, I have no desire to stay. But the systems of power must change for peace to ever last, and I believe Gendry and Davos are the men to do it. If you listen, I will explain.”

 

She bid the two of them to travel the realm, and build councils of common people to help the lords rule. The councils would keep the lords in check and the lords would keep the councils in check.

“Bring wise men and goatherds and healers together. Men and women who are respected in their communities. Bring them together to lessen the power of those born to privilege. Each kingdom should have its own council, to hear and understand the troubles of the people. And each council will report to a larger council at Storm’s End. Only then, can the laws truly reflect the peoples’ will.” Daenerys had chosen Gendry and Davos for this role as they were both low born. They had no reason to want the old ways to be preserved. Once they were over their shock, the two men had agreed, each talking of ideas they already had for their new councils. The other lords soon came to accept the idea that not all decisions would be in their hands from now on. The Prince of Dorne accepted, on the terms that Dorne would have more freedoms than the other kingdoms, as it always had. Dany agreed, on the condition that the Dornish forces helped Gendry disband the Gold Cloaks and find his own, honorable, men to follow him of their own choice.

“You don’t think we should keep the Gold Cloaks employed for now?” Gendry asked.

“No,” Dany was resolute, “they were hired and paid to intimidate the people and take their money. A position like that will always attract a certain type of man… and not the type of man who should have that power. You will soon find your own followers, Gendry. Once word gets out that the Raven and the Imp are dead, and Robert Baratheon’s son rides through the country to give a voice to the people, they will flock to you. All you must do is inspire them with your story and your plans. They must look to you and see a better world for their children.”

“And what about the Iron Bank?” Gendry asked. “What will they do if we can’t pay them back?”

Dany had given this some thought during her wait in Pentos. “It’s a curious thing,” she began, “that the Iron Bank would have chosen to fund Cersei’s war against me. Me, the Breaker of Chains. I could not help but wonder why, so I asked around Pentos. Pentos has had many wars with Braavos over the years, many of them over the practice of slavery. You see, the Braavosi abhore slavery. In fact, the city was founded by escaped slaves. For all their differences in religion, this is the one thing that unites them. The Pentosi had some very interesting information about the Iron Bank.” Dany spoke in a high, innocent voice. “Did you know that the Lord of Light is the fastest growing religion in the world, right now? Since the High Priestess took a stand against slavery, the practice is becoming more and more frowned upon. Should any evidence be found that the Iron Bank has been profiting from the slave trade, they may find they are no longer welcome in Braavos and, increasingly, in any of the other Free Cities either. I have made the High Priestess of the Red Temple aware of my concerns, and should such evidence be found, they will have far bigger problems than the crown’s debt.”

Gendry looked suitably impressed.

“Don’t worry about the debt, Gendry.” Dany told him. “Worry about your people. They have suffered during this winter.”

He nodded and straightened up, looking fierce, and Dany had the sudden thought that this is likely how Robert Baratheon had once looked. The Usurper had given the realm its last years of peace before all the recent wars, and though it pained Dany to admit it, he - and Gendry by extension - was probably well thought of.

“Yara.” Dany turned to her friend. “I give you my ships that are docked in Volantis. They are all yours. I would ask you to lead your people into the world’s seas. The Stepstones are a haven for slavers and pirates. If you would defend the area from threats, trade between the Summer Sea and the Narrow Sea can increase and all shall prosper from it.”

Yara nodded, smiling. “We can do that. And I hear that most slave traders in the east, buy from corsairs living on the Basilisk Isles. If we Ironborn were to take our new fleet down there, we could rid the area of slavers. Places such as Naath and the Summer Isles would become safer and see fewer attacks.”

Dany beamed. “That would benefit many people, including the Ironborn, as you could claim any material wealth from any slave ship you seize. It would also make you a great friend of the Red Temple.”

“I’d very much like to see that priestess again, when I go to pick up my new ships.” Yara’s eyes twinkled.

“Careful, my friend,” Dany teased her, “she is  _ much  _ older than she looks.”

Yara simply shrugged. “She looks good for it. I’ll take my chances.”

 

The rest of the meeting passed in a friendly, informal way, as the high born all seemed to want the same thing, for once. The finer details of the changes to Westerosi rule were worked out with the advice and input of all those present. New Houses would be chosen to act as lords of the Reach and Westerlands, from among respected families in those areas.

The sun was low in the west by the time they disbanded. All left on good terms with one another and Gendry had already earned respect and confirmed Dany’s belief that he was the right man to lead.

Only Jon was silent and a little sullen as he, once again, watched around her for threats on their way back the free folk.

“What’s bothering you?” Dany asked eventually, when she was sick of his frowning.

“Sansa.”

  
  


***

  
  
  


“You’re a Stark. Go back to Winterfell, where you belong, and stay there.” Gendry’s voice was hostile. He turned his horse away and gestured to the guards to go. Sansa still held her head high, and gave one last glare to Jon and Dany as she was escorted up the King’s Road, back to her own country. Her uncle and cousin awkwardly kept their distance, not wanting to seem like they sympathized but also knowing they would have to act as her guards on the journey back. Gendry, the Dornish and Yara departed in the opposite direction, leaving only Jon and Dany on their horses, watching Sansa’s red hair fade into the distance.

While Jon understood Dany’s reasoning for letting her go, the idea that she would escape punishment, made him clench his jaw.

“The woman I was before I died would almost certainly have burned her for what she did.” Dany mused. “But that queen is gone. And I know you think Sansa will get away with it, but I don’t think you’re right.” Dany turned to look at him. “If there is one thing I learned in The North, it’s that the people are not as loyal as they claim to be. And if she is the type of queen I think she is, her people will soon tire of her. Spring is almost reaching us here, but it will be several years before it is felt in The North. They may just learn that being truly independent, with no food or trade to help them through winter, is not as idyllic as the  _ idea  _ of independence. They may once again seek to be a part of Gendry’s realm, but they must learn that for themselves.”

Her words made Jon relax a little, though not much. He still felt a rage inside him. “She’s always been elitist. Family names have always mattered most to Sansa. I was nothing to her. Of all my brothers and sisters, she always thought the least of me. She was - as you would say - ‘born to privilege’. The bells of Winterfell rang all day when she was born. The entire North made toasts to the new little Lady Stark’s health.”

Jon took a breath. He had to put words to the anger he felt or he would never be rid of it. “Not like you. Illyrio told us about you and your brother, about your childhood. Because of your family name. And it turns out it’s my family name too. And yet my life was so different than yours. My father made grand claims of nobility and doing what was right, yet he supported a man as king who he believed would kill a child. He kept me hidden, didn’t even tell his Lady who I was, because he believed Robert would have killed me - bashed my head in, as was done to Rhaegar’s other children. Yet I was kept safe. A nameless bastard, but still safe and loved. But what if I had been born with silver hair instead of black? Is that all that kept me safe for so long? That I did not look like who I truly was? Is that all that separated your life from mine?!” Jon had not realized that he was crying until Dany reached over and wiped a tear from his cheek.

“Your name has never mattered to anyone who truly loved you.” Dany spoke softly, “To your father, or Arya, or Tormund… or me.

“We are not our ancestors. We can choose to keep making their mistakes, or we can learn from them. We cannot change the past. I can never change the things - good or bad - that I’ve done, and neither can you. But we can look back and see the road that led us here. So maybe we can choose where we go next. Gendry is not Robert. You are not Eddard. I am not Aerys. And yet we all grew up with the consequences of their decisions. What we  _ can  _ do is decide what will be the consequences of  _ our  _ decisions. You already knew who you were, long before you found out your parentage. I grew up with the lie that my father was a hero, and was unjustly destroyed by a kingslayer, a usurper and his dogs. One day, you will come to terms with the lie that  _ you  _ grew up with.”

With that, Dany turned her horse back towards the Kingswood, tugging on Jon’s hand. With one last look at the figures fading into the distance, Jon turned his horse back southward and followed Daenerys.

  
  


***

  
  


Dany watched from the dock as a large crate, containing Drogon’s armor, was loaded onto Yara’s biggest ship. She looked around nervously, though she knew no one would recognize her. She wore loose-fitting silk trousers, a bodice of soft leather and a blue scarf over her head. No one could have guessed she was a queen, much less a Targaryen. Still, she had walked the roads of King’s Landing and seen the signs of its destruction and had no desire to frighten people who had suffered enough. Drogon waited on Dragonstone, where he had been for several weeks, for the ships to pass on their way back east.

Sensing someone behind her, Dany turned to see Jon and she gasped. His hair was loose, not tied tightly behind his head. Dark curls framed his face, making him look young and beautiful, like a prince from a song.

She had tried to avoid this moment. Part of Dany wanted to ask him to come with her, but the young woman in her feared his rejection. So she had left the camp early, before anyone rose, so she did not have to say goodbye. It had been easy to avoid any difficult conversations with Jon until now, as she had been so busy making things ready for her final departure. But now he stood in front of her, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“This is the last time I will cross the Narrow Sea.” Dany said when she had recovered. In her heart she knew it to be true. She would not return to Westeros.

“Me too.” Jon replied, a smile spreading over his face.

Dany looked at him properly then. At the rest of him. He was wearing some of the clothes she had bought for him in Pentos. A soft shirt of pale blue silk and soft, grey pants. He did not have his cloak. Dany took a shallow moment to marvel at his beauty in a color other than black or brown.  _ Definitely the blood of Old Valyria.  _ She appreciated him for a moment until his words and clothes truly sank in.

“You’re coming with me?” Dany asked, her head snapping back up to look in his eyes. “But what about your people?”

Jon’s only answer was to step to the side, so Dany could see almost a hundred of the free folk approaching the dock, led by Tormund. The people had all of their belongings on their backs, and headed straight for the ships.

Dany made a choking noise in her shock. “How did you convince the people of the north to cross the world?” She asked Tormund as soon as he was close enough.

“Easy. I described the taste of strawberries.” Tormund laughed.

Dany gave him a look, telling him to be serious.

“Listen, not all of them wanted to come. Not all of them even came south, a lot of them are still at Castle Black and a few are heading back there now. But the rest? We lived in the north, and we did it well, better than anyone else could’ve lived there… but only because there was a great fucking wall between us and anything else. Life was hard there. Your cock freezing off was a very real problem and food was scarce… and that was  _ before  _ the Night King killed everything in his path... We followed Snow this far, we figured we might as well follow him the rest of the way and find out if there’s anything better.”

Dany smiled “There is.” She told him. “The Dothraki Sea is beautiful and almost empty. We can all be free there.”

“Well, okay then.” And like that, Tormund strode onto the ship, though he gave it a disgusted look.

“And Ghost? I thought you would have to go back for him?” Dany asked Jon.

He sighed, his eyes downcast, “Ghost found himself a pack in the hills of the Vale… It’s better for him, he needs to be with other wolves. They are not solitary animals and I can only give him so much. He left.”

Dany could see Jon’s sadness, and took his hand. “I’m sure he will never forget you,” she offered. It was the only comfort she could think of. 

Over Jon’s shoulder, Dany could see the stream of free folk following Tormund onto the ship and was distracted from Jon’s grief. “Does Yara…?” Dany trailed off.

“Yes. I’ve agreed to take them over to Pentos, since I’m going there on the way to Volantis, anyway,” Yara answered, striding onto the dock, Gendry and Davos by her side.

The five of them gathered together by the water’s edge.

Dany smiled, believing she was giving the people their best chance with these leaders. “May the world prosper under the friendship of the Targaryens of Essos,” Dany smiled up at Jon, “the Baratheons of Westeros,” she clasped Gendry’s forearm, “and the Queen of the Seas.” She offered her arm to Yara, who pulled her in close, much to Dany’s surprise - she had thought Yara hated physical affection.

“And for you?” Yara asked as she pulled away. “Back to your tent in the grass, is it?”

“For now.” Dany giggled. “But I still have ambitions. I plan to continue working with Kinvara against slavery. And now I know that Greyscale can be cured, I plan to spread this knowledge, so that one day, those infected with the disease are no longer sent away to die.... And perhaps, when the stone men no longer inhabit the ruins of Valyria…” Dany smiled up at Jon again, “we can reclaim the Lands of the Long Summer and make them beautiful.  _ New  _ Valyria?” She suggested.

Jon simply smiled and nodded as if to tell her he’d follow her anywhere.

“And I guess I’ll have to find myself a nice Lady to marry.” Gendry muttered, chuckling at the idea.

Dany shrugged. “Marry a whore,” she told him, “or a healer… or a scholar. Marry someone you love and who is able to love you in return. And when the time comes for you to choose a successor, choose the one who shares your values, not just your name. A son, a daughter, a squire, a friend… choose the person who will give the people their best chance.”

Gendry nodded. “I still plan to tell everyone who’ll listen that Daenerys Targaryen isn’t a monster. Even if they don’t believe me, they should still hear the truth.”

“That’s kind, thank you.” Dany could not help but look over his shoulder at a damaged building, its stonework stained with black soot and its roof partially collapsed.

 

Dany and Jon said their goodbyes to Gendry and Davos and followed Yara onto the deck of her ship, where she left them to shout orders at her men.

“I still can’t believe you were right about Bran.” Dany teased Jon. 

“I am right sometimes, you know. It does happen.” Jon sounded suitably offended by her mocking. Dany laughed at his expression.

Jon grew serious again after a moment. “I wasn’t in my right mind. People in their right mind don’t drag their people across the world, chasing a dream they had in a blizzard. But I  _ needed  _ it to be true. I  _ needed  _ to believe that Bran was responsible, because if he wasn’t, then I really did murder the woman I love, in the same way I was betrayed and murdered. And I couldn’t bear that. I had to know… to understand…  _ why  _ I did it. Did you never ask yourself  _ why  _ you would kill the innocents you always fought for?”

Dany could not meet Jon’s eyes, instead focusing again on the burned building. “I just assumed I was mad, like my father. They all said…” Dany trailed off before her voice could betray her anguish.

“They all wanted power and you were in their way. So was I.” Jon’s voice was soft.

“But I still remember it. I see it in my dreams. I remember the smell… the screaming. I will never forget.”

“I’ll never forget the way that knife felt as it slid into your heart. I’ll never forget the devastation in your eyes as your strength failed…”

Dany looked at Jon then, his eyes full of tears. “I forgive you. But I can’t forgive myself,” she told him.

“I know the feeling.” Jon smiled, blinking his tears away. “A new life, that’s what we need. We can heal. I’m happy to be coming with you.”

“But as what?” Dany asked, realizing this could be put off no longer. “As my protector, because you feel guilty? As my friend? My nephew? … My lover?” She could not meet his eyes. She felt like a young girl, risking her heart for the first time.

Jon’s response was to clasp her face in his hands and kiss her. Gently and as unsure as she felt. When he pulled away, he murmured, “I will be all of those things, and more... if you’ll have me?”

Dany was smiling broadly as she pressed her lips back to his, kissing him harder this time. Seeing an opportunity to repay Jon for his ‘auntie’ jest before their last parting, she pulled Jon’s hands from her cheeks, pushed them around his back and clasped his wrists tightly in her hands, as if to stop him stabbing her again. Jon pulled away just long enough to narrow his eyes at her, before kissing her again, his wrists still held behind him.

When Dany eventually pulled away, she put on her most queenly voice, “I will allow you to accompany me,” she teased, “but I will still be travelling home with Drogon, once we reach Dragonstone.” She began to walk away from Jon, but he grabbed her and pulled her back against his front.

“Are you sure?” He whispered in her ear, “Yara said we can have the biggest cabin?”


	7. Epilogue

“You look terrible,” Dany told Jon, “and if  _ you _ look terrible, how bad must _ I  _ look?”

Jon didn’t look up when he answered, “Well, you did just have a baby three days ago.”

Dany raised her eyebrows at him. 

On noticing her silence, he finally looked up at her. “I mean… you look beautiful. As always.”

She gave him a ‘ _ nice save’  _ smile. She knew it wasn’t true, but she wanted to hear it from him anyway.

Jon stood, lifting their sleeping daughter from her basket as he did, and handed her to Dany.

“Are you ready?” he asked her.

“No. But I’m sick of the sight of this hut. And it’s time she met her people.” She stepped out into the warm evening of Vaes Dothrak. 

Jon followed behind, placing a wreath of waxy red leaves on Dany’s head and his own, that had been made for them as a gift, by the free folk. They had found the tree on the slopes of the Mother of Mountains and the red leaves reminded them of their Weirwoods.

To Dany’s relief, no one crowded around them as they walked from their hut to the clearing at the center of the city. People were gathered around individual campfires, groups made up of all races. As Jon and Dany passed, they strained for a closer look at the baby and followed at a distance, no one getting too close.

They were a strange, composite race. Free folk, former slaves, Unsullied and Dothraki. They followed many gods and spoke many tongues. A peculiar new language was beginning to develop amongst them, taking words from the common tongue, Valyrian and Dothraki, as well as the occasional word of Ghascari and the Old Tongue of the north. No one stuck exclusively to their own people. Some remained in the city, choosing one of the many empty homes for themselves or building something new. Some chose to claim a plot of land outside the city and farm animals or crops. Others chose to venture into the grasslands for weeks or months at a time, hunting food or trading goods, that passed through the east and west markets, with the rest of the continent. But everyone knew they would always have a home to return to in the sacred city.

The fiercest of their people, including the Unsullied, took turns guarding the city and scouting out for threats in the grass. Dany took her turn at this too, riding Drogon every day, searching for anyone looking to trouble them. Indeed, Dany had been riding Drogon right up until she had felt the first twinges of her child’s arrival and had to make a quick return home, to a panicked Jon.

He walked beside her now, his arm around her shoulders, as they entered the clearing where once the temple had stood. The Dosh Khaleen awaited them, along with Grey Worm and Tormund. As the Khalessi, Dany was able to pick and choose which traditions she kept. She had bathed in the sacred lake and had the Dosh Khaleen send prayers to the Great Stallion for her child’s health, but she had flat-out refused to eat a raw stallion's heart and forbid any fighting at her three-day-long wedding.

Since their people followed so many gods, and neither Jon nor Dany held any god in great esteem, they had decided to have their child blessed by a representative of each race.

As they stepped onto a high platform so they could be seen, Tormund asked “So, what have you called her?”

Jon looked down at Dany and smiled. They had agreed early on that Jon would think of names for a son and Dany would think of names for a daughter. Jon had passed around names like Pyp and Grenn and Robb, which Dany found sweet and humble, before he eventually settled on Jeor for a son, after his mentor and Ser Jorah’s father. She liked this even more. It was somehow… noble.

Dany, on the other hand, had far more trouble choosing a daughter’s name. She suggested Rhaella or Rhaenes, and was leaning towards Alysanne, after the most beloved queen in their family’s history, but Dany could not settle. She knew what stopped her. To settle on a name would make her child more real, and Daenerys was consumed by fear. She had already lost two pregnancies - though Jon only knew about Rhaego - and both her and Jon’s mothers had died to bring them into this world. Dany found there were times she could barely think for fear that her child would die, or that  _ she  _ would die and never know her baby. When she awoke at night, afraid that the sweat on her legs was blood, there was only one face that could calm her. The memory of one face brought Dany solice throughout her pregnancy, so when her Yunkish midwife placed her daughter in her arms, after what she described as ‘the easiest birth she had ever seen to’, Dany knew what name to give her, beyond all doubt.

“Missandei.” Dany called, clear and loud for the crowd to hear. They cheered and shouted the name.

“Well,” Tormund spoke quietly, reverently, as he took the baby, “may little Missandei’s feet make happy footprints through many years.”  He smiled down at her and murmured sweet words of blessing in the Old Tongue.

Tormund then handed her to Grey Worm, who looked almost comically overwhelmed by having a baby in his arms. Grey Worm took from the folds of his shirt, a butterfly made from shreds of many different colors of silk, and tucked it into Missandei’s blanket. “May you never know anything but peace,” Grey Worm told her, before kissing her silver curls and handing her off to the head of the Dosh Khaleen and turning away to hide his emotions.

The Dothraki blessed Missandei with water from the Womb of the World, the sacred lake behind the city, and cried out traditional Dothraki chants.

When all the formalities were finished, Dany and Jon stepped down from the wooden platform and walked among their people to introduce Missandei who, by some miracle, slept through it all.

  
  
  


***

  
  


Every time Drogon lashed his tail through the water, Jon’s bare feet were splashed. He leaned against the dragon’s neck, while Dany and Missandei slept beside him, wrapped in Dany’s favorite red cloak. Jon looked out across the lake to the city beyond. His city. His people. 

He would never forget his first sight of it. Drogon had announced their arrival several days before, so they were met beneath two great horse statues, where Jon unceremoniously threw down Longclaw with the hope he need never use it again. Daenerys appeared to be hugged by every child in the city before they reached a clearing full of drumming and laughter. The free folk were seated in places of honor at the rows of feast tables. Jon sat in the most honored seat of all, at the right side of his Khaleesi. They called him ‘ _ Khal Naqis _ ’, meaning ‘small king’. Dany had laughed and insisted that it was not an insult, the Dothraki simply had a way of being very exact with their descriptions. Jon didn’t care, he’d been called worse and everyone treated him with the respect of a king - even Grey Worm, after Dany told him the story of the dragon pit.

Jon Snow… The Bastard of Winterfell… Crow… Lord Commander… King in the North… Aegon Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne. All the names and titles he’d been given over the years faded to mean little and less compared to the titles of husband and father than he had gained in the past few months. With each passing day under the summer sun, Jon found himself healing from wounds of the past, just as Dany had promised. Westeros was far away and fading quickly from his mind.

Tomorrow they were leaving Vaes Dothrak. Now that Missandei was a little older and strong enough to make the journey, Daenerys wanted to have her blessed by the red priestess in Volantis. As Dany reminded him, neither of them would have lived to bring the child into the world if not for the Lord of Light bringing them back. Jon understood that and was also eager to see the woman who had saved Dany, so that they might meet again, but he found that he did not want to leave the peace and safety of their city for Volantis - a much busier and more troublesome place, inhabited by both friends  _ and  _ possible enemies.

Jon did not fear the journey across the grass, only the destination. He remembered fondly, his first sight of Dany’s sea. Not long after crossing the great Rhoyne, Dany had gone ahead of the free folk, up to the top of a ridge. He remembered how she had smiled down the hill at him, the sunrise shining off her silver hair, making it look golden, as it lifted in the morning breeze. Desperate to see whatever view had made Daenerys look so peaceful and happy, Jon had urged his horse up the ridge, next to hers.

He had no words for the endless grass that had greeted him. Drogon was already tiny in the distance, looping about and dropping low. A gust of wind had blown from behind them, sending ripples into the east, pointing their way.

“The city is at the far side. We must cross the sea.” Dany had not sounded worried, only excited. She smiled down at the free folk, who caught up to them on the hill top. Tormund’s eyes had widened at the view, but like Dany, he was not intimidated.

“It stretches on for over a thousand leagues,” she told them, “and it’s almost empty. You are safe here. And free. You may all do as you will.”

_ She certainly kept that promise,  _ Jon thought. He looked to his sleeping wife. She had been able to give the free folk the life they truly wanted. They were held to no lords and robbed of no taxes. Most of them had taken to trading or farming or hunting. Some of them, including Tormund, were accompanying them on their journey to Volantis, in order to sell exotic goods from the mythical lands east of the mountains, that flowed into the eastern market of the city. Dany had told Jon that she suspected her stone eggs from Asshai had once passed through that market on their way to Illyrio.

Jon glanced behind him at Drogon’s massive neck.  _ It's impossible to think you were inside a stone egg just ten years ago,  _ he thought at the dragon, who made a sleepy noise and splashed his tail into the lake again.

Jon thought back to where  _ he  _ was ten years ago. About to leave Winterfell to join the Night’s Watch, not knowing anything of White Walkers or dragons. He had believed that his only place in the world was one of service and celibacy and never having a family of his own. He had never wanted to pass on his bastard name, even to the child of a common whore. He could never have imagined the woman he would eventually love and be loved by, would be a queen of great power, who never cared where he had come from.

On the journey east from Pentos, Dany had asked Jon if he wanted to change his name. ‘In a new life, you can be called anything’ she had pointed out. Did he wish to take his birth name? Or the name ‘Stark’? Or any other name? 

All of Jon’s life, he had hated his bastard name. It marked him out as different, and somehow worth less than his true born family.

When he asked Dany’s opinion, she had said she loved his name. ‘It tells a story,’ she said, ‘it marks the path that brought you here, and symbolizes how we met.’

That was all he needed to hear, and from that moment, Jon Snow loved his name too. Only one of them in their marriage, needed to have a fierce, unforgettable name, and he would never be able to outdo Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen… and all her other titles.


End file.
